Love (and Downton) Actually
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: A bride, a writer, a chef, a waiter, a hotel concierge, a press secretary, a housekeeper, a teacher, a historian, a tv producer, a doctor, a sous-chef, a driver, a CEO, a manager, a best man, a footman, a pop star, two work colleagues, and the Prime Minister. This Christmas, love is actually closer than they realize. (MULTI-SHIP, "Downton Abbey" meets "Love Actually")
1. 5 Weeks to Christmas (part I)

_HERE IT IS! My Downton Abbey Modern AU Christmas Fic! Just in time for the holidays! This is a multi-ship story with a wide range of Downton characters from previous seasons and current one, all in the format of one of my favorite Christmas movies: "Love Actually"! If you're familiar with that film, hopefully you'll see some of the paralleling storylines from the movie with various DA characters. But at the same time, I am aware that not all the DA characters *easily* fit into every single storyline that "Love Actually" had, so I had to be a little creative in putting which character into what storyline, and so forth. Hopefully, you'll find this little fic to be fun and heartwarming, which is EXACTLY what we want/need during the holiday season :o)_

_As I said, this story is **MULTI-SHIP**, so hopefully everyone will find something they love about it. I hope you enjoy it, it's been a ton of fun writing just this first chapter, and I am very much looking forward to writing more. Please, as always, leave a comment and let me know what you think! THANKS FOR READING AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!_

_Also, I'm going to keep the rating at "T"; there is some strong language used every so often, but I don't feel that's enough to raise it to an "M" rating. Anyway, just wanted to give you a warning about that!_

* * *

**"Love _(and Downton)_ Actually"  
**_**By The Yankee Countess**_

_Chapter One_

**5 Weeks to Christmas (part I)**

"Bollocks!"

Everyone winced in the sound booth, save one person. She was used to these tirades.

"Fucking bollocks, shit, ass, wank, and hole!"

She sighed and then leaned into the microphone. "Are you done?"

He glared through the glass at her. "_Why_ are we doing this?"

A groan went up from everyone in the sound booth. "Do you really want me to go over it with you…again?"

"Yes, Miss O'Brien, remind me, _again_, as you so graciously put, why I'm singing this shit song which is exactly what it is…absolute fucking, ass-wiping, shit!"

She folded her arms and stood up straight, her eyes meeting his through the sound booth's glass and holding his gaze steadily. Everyone, from the back-up singers in the recording studio to the technicians in the sound booth were fixed on her, waiting to see how she was going to handle this most recent tantrum from the one man in all of British pop music that no one wanted to work with…unless they were paid in cash, up front.

"Because at Christmas, everyone loves a good Christmas song." He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand to stop him. "And even shit Christmas songs are considered 'good songs' because it's Christmas, and that's what people want."

Now everyone shifted their focus to him, waiting to see how he would respond (with another colorful tirade? Or perhaps he would throw the music stand across the studio?)

"So we're agreed that it's shit…"

Sarah sighed but nodded her head. "Yes…but it _will be_ solid gold shit…" she put on a smile, one that looked rather painful, before adding through gritted teeth, "if you get the lyrics right." That was the problem; he kept singing the old lyrics over and over, the lyrics that had made this song a hit back in the '90's, an entire century ago. Now it was time to bring the song up to date—with a holiday twist.

Thomas scratched his chin…and then nodded his head. "Alright, let's do this."

A sigh of relief went up from everyone in the studio. "I don't know how you do it, Miss O'Brien…" muttered one of the technicians to her right. Honestly, there were days she didn't know either. But when you worked as many years as she had with a man like Thomas Barrow…you not only learned how to put on a thick skin, you also learned what buttons needed to be pushed in order to get the work done.

The music began again, and soon filled the speakers in the booth and studio. Thomas was lost in his own world, his eyes closed, one hand on the headphones as he listened, the back-up singers swaying off to the side, one eye on their sheet music, the other on him.

"I feel it in my fingers…I feel it in my toes!"

Sarah held her breath, and no doubt so did everyone else in the booth.

"_Christmas_ is all around me…and so the feeling grows!"

"Oh thank you baby Jesus," Sarah groaned, clasping her hands together and looking up towards the heavens. She met Thomas' gaze through the glass, and he actually winked at her, before continuing the song. Yes, a majority of the time that man annoyed the hell out of her and caused her to question why she went into this business in the first place. But every so often, once in a while…she couldn't help but love him.

* * *

She was scrambling. She kept glancing at the clock, as if doing so would win her more time. "Oh Lord," she muttered, continuing her search. Where was her earring? "I'm going to be so late!"

A cough was heard behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at its source. Despite the state he was in…she couldn't help but grin at him.

"The church is only just around the corner," he tried to reassure.

"Yes, darling, I know, but…this isn't just _any_ wedding—it's my sister's wedding! And I should have been there an hour ago!"

He coughed again, then took a tissue and blew his nose. Poor dear, his cold didn't seem to be improving. "I'll pour you a glass of orange juice."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Syb, you can't hunt for whatever it is you're looking for—"

"My left earring; the little pearl ones that Edith got me for my birthday this past summer."

"Right, well, the point I'm trying to make is that you don't need to baby me and play the role of 'Nurse Crawley' at the same time you're trying to find your earring, when you keep going on and on about how late you are."

She paused her search and looked at him. "Oh Larry…" she went over to the bed where he sat and took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his.

"Sybil—" he chuckled, but gently tried to push her away. "Sybil, stop—I'm ill, you don't want to make yourself sick, too."

"I don't care," she giggled, meaning every word. "I love you; I love you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and I love you even when you're sneezing and coughing and looking absolutely disgusting."

"Oh, now there's something to boost a man's ego," he muttered, before giving her rump a little smack. "Now find your earring and be gone."

She laughed and kissed him again, before returning to the search. "It is a shame, though," she sighed, checking the bathroom once more. "I was hoping your health would have improved so you could come with me."

"Ah yes, you know how I love weddings," he muttered from the bedroom, before blowing his nose. "I can just hear your mother now; 'Larry, why haven't you proposed to Sybil yet? Mark my words; it will be you two next'!"

Sybil poked her head from the bathroom and tried to look cross, which she found to be very difficult based on the way he looked at her. "Your American accent is atrocious."

He laughed. "Well, you'll just have to give my condolences—I mean my 'congratulations' to Sir Anthony."

"That's not funny," she groaned, trying to sound stern. She knew that her mother was laying the whole "marriage thing" rather thickly on the two of them lately. Obviously her sister's impending nuptials had inspired her, and like Emma Woodhouse, she was trying to pair everyone off.

"Did you look by your typewriter?"

Sybil's head shot up at Larry's suggestion. She quickly emerged from the bathroom and scampered across the floor to her writing desk, a small nook in the corner of their room where her old, dingy typewriter lay. Sure enough, there was the pearl earring she had been missing. "AH! Oh Larry, Agatha Christie couldn't have done better!" she grinned, quickly putting the earring on.

"I thought I remembered seeing something sparkling there in the morning sunlight," he explained. "And nothing from that old machine sparkles."

"Now, now, leave my typewriter alone."

He groaned and rolled his eyes again. "Really, Syb, join the 21st century! I told you I didn't mind getting you a Macbook—"

"I like my typewriter just fine, thank you very much," she interrupted. "Besides, it has character! That typewriter belonged to—"

"Your great-great-great aunt who was a suffragette and volunteer nurse during WWI, and who wrote many political essays that would go on to inspire the Labor Movement, etc.; yes, I think you've told me this story before…"

"Then you should understand how dear it is to me," she said with her nose up in the air, imitating her grandmother.

"'Dear'? More like 'infatuation'."

"More like 'love', actually," she said with a poke of her tongue.

Larry laughed. "You little minx, don't tease poor, sick Larry."

She giggled and came over to him and once again brushed her lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. "I do love you," she whispered against his mouth, before moving her lips to his forehead and kissing his slightly fevered brow. "And I won't stay too long—"

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "It _is_ your sister's wedding, after all. Don't come rushing home because of me. I'll be fine; I'm going to stay in bed…and I'll even have some of that orange juice you recommended."

She smiled at him and ran her fingers over his cheek. "Alright…but do look after yourself. And if you're feeling better…maybe _Nurse Crawley_ can make a _different_ sort of 'check-up'?" she teased with a flirtatious wink.

He swatted her rump again, but she didn't mind. "Have a good time," he called out to her as she began to scurry down the hallway to the front door of their bungalow.

She paused at the door and turned. "Did I tell you that I love you?"

She laughed as she heard him groan. "Yes, you little fool, now go!" And with that, she shut the door and hurried down the street, a happy and blissful smile on her face.

* * *

The place was utter chaos.

Isobel was getting pushed right, left, and center by the busy crew who were trying to set everything up for the next scene. _Amazing_, she found herself thinking. Everything always seemed so calm and organized on the telly. _Of course, they never show what really goes on "behind the scenes", unless it's a special, and even then, they never show the bedlam that is in fact, the reality._

"Mrs. Crawley?" she looked up and smiled at the director. Or at least that's who she thought he was. "I'm so glad to have you here; please forgive the pandemonium, we're just wrapping everything up for the Christmas Special, you can understand."

"Of course," she smiled, looking around and trying to admire the majesty of the sets and costumes, despite the hurried atmosphere. "I must say, it's quite an honor to be here; I've always been a great fan of this drama, but I never imagined—"

"Forgive me, but we are on a bit of a tight schedule, so if you don't mind, I'm just going to introduce you to Ethel, the actress you'll be consulting?"

"Oh! Oh yes, of course, I am honored to meet Miss Parks!" Isobel felt rather star-struck at the thought. She loved these period dramas; they were her favorite programs to watch on Sunday evenings. As a little girl, it was her love for such shows like _"Upstairs/Downstairs"_ that drove her into studying history, especially that of the late Victorian/Edwardian period.

"Oh, and you should also meet Richard—where is he? RICHARD!"

A silver-haired man with a gray moustache emerged from one of the sets that were made up to look like a WWI convalescent home.

"This is Richard, Dr. Clarkson," the director clarified. "He's also a consultant, and the two of you will probably be working close together, so it's best to get introductions out of the way."

Isobel smiled at the silver-haired doctor and offered her hand to him. He returned her smile and quickly shook her hand. "Ah, so you'll be the expert on nurses and midwives?"

She actually felt her face blush, which she found a little strange. She didn't blush easily. "I am; my grandmother was a midwife in Manchester during WWI, and her sister served as a volunteer nurse for the Red Cross."

"Excellent," Richard smiled. "But as you heard, I _am_ actually a doctor, and not a historian—I'm here more or less to advise the actors on how to properly hold scalpels and such."

She laughed at this and felt her insides warm up. Despite the chaos that was going on around them, something that could easily intimidate anyone who wasn't used to the life of being a popular program on the BBC, Isobel did feel at ease, and she knew it was all because of this Dr. Richard Clarkson.

And in many ways it was strange—she had just met the man, but already…she felt she had found a kindred spirit.

* * *

The mobile on her desk began to buzz with life, and one glance at the screen told Elsie that if she didn't take the call, she wouldn't hear the end of it later.

"Hello, Beryl."

"NO! I TOLD YOU _THAT_ CAKE GOES TO THE PRINCESS LOUISE BALLROOM! NOT THE PRINCE ALBERT!"

Elsie winced at the shout. "Beryl, what's going on?"

A curse was muttered, before the voice came back onto the phone. "Sorry, but I have to deal with these daft—ALFRED! JIMMY! WHAT DID I JUST SAY? _THE PRINCESS LOUISE BALLROOM!"_

Elsie sighed; conversations with Beryl Patmore were never dull.

"Lord Christ, almighty!" Beryl groaned into the phone. "If Mr. Carson doesn't keep those lads in line, I swear I'll be forced to—"

"A bit chaotic?"

Beryl muttered something under her breath. "Just your 'typical' Saturday at _The Edwardian_," she grumbled. "Can you believe we're hosting three wedding receptions today? THREE! And they're all happening at approximately the same time?" she muttered another curse, and then muttered something else to a waiter or kitchen worker in passing. "I swear, Elsie—my retirement can't come soon enough!"

Despite her friend's grumbling, Elsie couldn't help but smile. She knew how much Beryl loved her job, even if it did drive her mad sometimes. "If it helps, things are a bit chaotic here, too."

Beryl muttered something incoherent. "Do you have waiters scrambling around, delivering the wrong cakes to the wrong reception halls?"

"No, nothing quite like that—"

"Then you don't know what chaos or insanity is," she muttered. "I never thought I would say this, Elsie, but thank God one of these wedding parties brought in their own caterer."

Elsie was surprised by this. She knew how seriously Beryl took her cooking, especially as head chef for _The Edwardian_. "I didn't think you allowed that?"

"We normally don't, but the caterer is a former employee, and she's only handling the hors d'oeuvres. Quite frankly, when I learned we were going to have three weddings on the same day and around the same time, I welcomed the girl with open arms—NO, DAISY, THE FISH GOES THERE, NOT THE BEEF, THE FISH!" Beryl muttered something else that was incoherent before resuming their conversation on the phone. "My new sous-chef; she's a good girl, but honestly, I've had kitchen maids who're less thick!"

"I think I'll leave you to it, then," Elsie sighed. She knew that Beryl had only called to unleash some of her frustration. "We'll sit down tomorrow over a nice cup of tea and you can tell me everything then."

"Probably for the best," Beryl groaned, before shouting once more at the people around her. "WILLIAM, DON'T JUST STAND THERE! What's gotten into you, lad? Have you gone deaf? Oh, saints preserve us, WHERE IS MR. CARSON?"

Elsie sighed and hung up. No doubt her friend would have many interesting stories to share when they next saw one another. In some ways it was funny; Beryl Patmore worked at one of the most exclusive and luxurious hotels in all of London, whereas she, Elsie Hughes, worked at one of the most exclusive and secure homes in the entire country. And yet Elsie knew, despite the title of her employer, Beryl's stories would always dominate their conversations.

* * *

The church was filled to the brim. Sybil groaned, wondering where on earth she was going to find a seat.

"Sybil, you're late!"

She turned and smiled up at her father, who was trying to look stern, but she could tell he was shaking and nervous, and who could blame him, really? One of his little girls was about to get married.

"You look very dashing, Papa," she grinned, rising up on her tip toes to give her father's cheek a kiss.

"Sybil!"

She turned and gasped, staring at her sister in her finery. "Oh Edith…you look so beautiful!" she went over and gave her sister a hug, congratulating her again on this happy day. "Oh, Sir Anthony won't know what hit him when he sees you."

"Oh stop," Edith laughed, blushing behind her veil. "And it's 'Anthony', now; no need to be so 'formal' with your soon-to-be brother-in-law."

Sybil took her sister's hands and gazed at her with loving eyes. Oh she really was a vision. Edith, the Crawley sister who some had called the "ugly duckling", or if they were being polite, "the plain one", but those people would be eating their words right now. She was dressed to the nines in a gorgeous vintage-style gown that looked to be made of white satin and pearls, like something out of the 1920's, hers and Edith's favorite historical era. "Oh, and Granny got you—"

"Yes," Edith blushed, reaching up and gently touching the silver and diamond studded hair clip, which truly was from the 1920's, something their grandmother had received from their great-grandmother, the last "Countess of Grantham" back when that old aristocratic world had existed (at least in their family).

"Sybil, you best get inside; the ceremony will be starting any second," her father hissed. "I'm sure your mother has a spot for you."

"Actually," Sybil peered through the crack in the church doors. "I see one next to Anna; I'll sit by her, that way I won't cause a huge distraction."

Sybil kissed her sister and father once more, before disappearing through a side door into the sanctuary. Robert stood by his middle daughter and took her arm, clasping it to his and smiling down at her. "Ready, my dear?"

"Yes…" Edith sighed. "Yes, Papa, I think I am."

"Your sister is right," he murmured, looking like he was going to cry. "You truly do look so beautiful—"

"Oh Papa, stop," she pleaded. It wouldn't take much to get her crying right now.

"I wish your sister could be here—"

"Well she is a little busy, trying to run the country," Edith whispered with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Besides, isn't that why Evelyn agreed to film the whole event?"

Meanwhile, in the sanctuary, a nervous gentleman stood with his back to the congregation, his hands clasped tightly together, his head bowed as if in prayer. In fact, that was exactly what his best man was thinking when he looked at him.

"Having second thoughts?"

The groom's eyes snapped open then and he looked at his best man. "God, no! I just…" he took a deep breath. "I just hope _she's_ not having any," he confessed. "I'm not exactly a man in the 'prime of my youth'."

The best man laughed and clasped a hand on the groom's shoulder. "Don't worry; she's proven that she likes 'older' things."

Anthony tried to glare, but he couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, thank God for that; there's still a chance for me, I suppose."

Just then the organ music began to play, and everyone began to rise to their feet and turn their heads to back of the sanctuary. Anthony took one more deep breath, before turning himself. But just before he did, his best man reached forward and clasped his hand. "Good luck," he whispered.

"Thank you, Evelyn," Anthony replied, but just before releasing his hand, asked, "No surprises, yes?"

Evelyn looked innocent. "Your bride is coming," which wasn't exactly the answer Anthony was looking for from his best man, but he turned then and a smile of relief and joy washed over him…as his lovely Edith began to come down the aisle, smiling happily and lovingly from beneath her lace-trimmed veil.

* * *

"She's here!"

Gwen looked up from her desk and murmured a thankful prayer, before rising to her feet and rushing towards the door, straightening her suit jacket and standing at attention with some of the other members of staff. A few seconds passed, and then the door opened, while what seemed to be thousands of flash-bulbs illuminated the dull, gray background.

"PRIME MINISTER! PRIME MINISTER!" shouted various reporters, but no questions were answered, no interviews were given. Instead, the newly elected Prime Minister simply waved her hands at the crowd, which erupted into cheers and caused more flash-bulbs to go off, before finally retreating inside the safety that was Number 10 Downing Street. Only when the door shut behind her, did the Prime Minister lower her hands and let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank God that's over," she groaned, before looking at Gwen. "And I really must work on my wave."

Gwen and the others laughed softly. "Welcome, Prime Minister," she greeted, beaming from ear to ear.

"Hello, Gwen," the Prime Minister sighed, leaning in and giving her personal assistant a quick hug. They were not strangers, after all. Not only had Gwen worked closely with her during the campaign season, but Gwen had a "slight" history with their family, as Sybil's roommate during their university days.

"It's good to have you here, ma'am," Gwen said with a smile.

"Yes, although I doubt I'll hear the end of it from my parents," she sighed. "My sister is getting married today."

"Sybil?"

The Prime Minister shook her head. "Edith. No, Sybil and her boyfriend continue to 'live in sin', to quote Mama. But no doubt she'll be married long before me. Of course, having a partner is half the battle I suppose," she joked.

Gwen smiled and then put on her "professional" PA face, before turning and gesturing to the other members of staff who were standing at attention and waiting for introductions. "Let me introduce you to some of your household," she smiled and began first with an older woman who was beaming and looking very excited. "This is Elsie—Mrs. Hughes," Gwen clarified.

"Hello, Prime Minister," the woman greeted in a warm Scottish accent. "I'm the housekeeper."

"Ah, lovely!" the Prime Minister smiled. "Well, I think you will find that I'm quite different from the last PM who resided here. No infant children, no rebellious teenagers, no sloppy husband who can't pick his socks off the floor."

Mrs. Hughes softly chuckled. "Well, I'm still a little new, actually. I only began service here a few months before the last Prime Minister left office."

"Ah, I see," the Prime Minister nodded. "Good, then we'll both be bumbling about trying to figure out where things go and what room is which, together."

The staff laughed and Gwen continued down the line, introducing different people until she reached the end…where a handsome young man, with blonde hair and a charming smile, waited. The Prime Minister froze at the sight. "And this is—" Gwen began.

"Matthew?"

The young man grinned and yes, even blushed a little. "Hello, Mary."

A small gasp went up from around the assembled staff. One didn't just refer to the Prime Minister by his or her first name, even if you were familiar with the family, as Gwen was.

Matthew's face reddened and he looked down at the ground. "I apologize, I mean 'ma'am'," he corrected.

Mary blushed as well. "That's alright…Mr. Crawley," she corrected herself. She then turned her attention to the assembled staff and felt an explanation was in order. "Um…Mr. Crawley—Matthew," she added. It felt so strange referring to him by his surname, especially since it would raise a few more eyebrows considering who she was. "He's my cousin," she explained.

"Distant cousins," he added, and for some reason Mary felt her face grow hotter at the detail.

"Yes, but…" she turned and looked back at him, her brow creased with confusion. "But I haven't seen you since…when was it?"

"Your 18th birthday, perhaps?" he grinned. "One of those 'family reunions' up in Yorkshire, at Downton Abbey?"

"Oh…oh yes, of course," Mary whispered, remembering the party, but struggling to believe that it had been so long since they had seen one another, or spoken to each other.

"I went to law school, and had a practice in Manchester until a few years ago when I came to London and got involved in politics," he explained.

"Yes," Gwen intervened, as if trying to once more take control of this somewhat awkward conversation in the middle of the front hall at 10 Downing. "And now he's serving as your new Press Secretary."

Mary's eyes widened in surprise. "I…I didn't realize…" Oh she could kick herself. How could she not know about something so detailed about who her press secretary was?

"Well…" Gwen cleared her throat. "Let me get my things, and then let's sit down in your _new office,_ Prime Minister," she added for emphasis. "And fix the country. Shall we?"

"Yes, of course," Mary said, coming out of her awkward stupor and smiling once more at the staff, before nodding her head at Gwen, the professional air once more washing over her. "Good to see you again, Matthew."

She turned and walked away, smiling at other staff members as she went, but just before reaching her office, did turn and glance over her shoulder one last time. The others who were in the front hall hovered around Matthew, looking curious and asking questions. She should be concerned with what he was saying; not the best way to start one's first day on the job with gossip hounds within your own household. And yet…_that_ wasn't what was on her mind as she shut the door and leaned against its surface.

"Oh no…" she groaned, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "That is absolutely, bloody inconvenient."

* * *

_Thanks again for reading! Please share your thoughts!_


	2. 5 Weeks to Christmas (part II)

_THANKS EVERYONE! I was so pleased to see how so many people responded to this story! I'm really glad a lot of people are liking it so far, and excited to see where it goes! And a special thanks to two reviewers who were kind enough to explain to me that "Law School" isn't a separate entity in Britain as it is here in the US; honestly, that was something I would never have thought to research, so I'm glad someone told me! Anyway, this story is a TON of fun to write, so I couldn't help myself in writing the next chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy, and please continue to leave comments! Thanks again for reading and following!_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

**5 Weeks to Christmas (part II)**

Charles Carson stood in the corner of the ballroom, observing and taking mental notes on how everything was faring. He had been traveling back and forth between the various ballrooms where the three wedding receptions were being held, and so far, despite the few "hiccups" his colleague Mrs. Patmore had told him about, everything seemed to be running smoothly.

Of course, things would be running even better, so long as William could stop looking downright "mopey", and so long as both Alfred and Jimmy could stop flirting with the guests…

He would talk with those two lads later. Right now, he kept his eyes on William; why was the poor lad looking so…so…_miserable?_ And this wasn't a new phenomenon; William had been looking this way for several weeks. He tried very hard not to pry into the personal lives of his staff, but at the same time, William was…different, in Charles' eyes. "Special", even. Like the son he never had. But he would never tell anyone that, not even a good colleague like Beryl Patmore. But he was hoping that William would follow in his footsteps; the lad, though young, had been the best footman _The Edwardian_ had seen in ages. He was very attentive, very meticulous, and took orders very well. He had the makings of one day being a great concierge—if he could just get himself to _focus!_ Really, what was it that had brought on this sour mood?

Charles sighed and knew he should go and look in on the other reception parties. With his hands still tightly clasped behind his back, he silently moved across the outskirts of the room to the connecting doors, passing various laughing and joyful guests, including the Bride and her family.

"I nearly had a heart attack when I heard those trumpets!" Cora, mother of the bride, gasped. The others around her laughed. "I was sitting there in the front pew next to your father, admiring the two of you while the vicar gave the blessing—and then suddenly…TRUMPETS!"

The small crowd laughed at Cora's animated expressions.

"Well, imagine what it was like for me!" Edith giggled. "I thought it was all in my head! I had just finished kissing my _husband_, and suddenly I hear music…" she blushed and laughed along with the rest of them. "Speaking of husbands, where is Anthony?"

"Dancing with Granny," Sybil murmured.

"Oh poor chap," Robert, their father winced, which only caused the rest of them to laugh.

"So…you didn't know ANYTHING? I mean, you didn't know _any of that_ was going to happen?" Cora asked once more, referring again to the sudden musicians and singers that began singing and playing the Beatles classic, _"All You Need is Love"_ at the end of the ceremony.

"No!" Edith laughed with a shake of her head. "Apparently it was all Evelyn's doing!"

"Well I think that's very thoughtful of him," Sybil grinned, kissing her sister on the cheek. "And Mary will no doubt be in tears, laughing, when she sees it."

"Yes, I am glad that Mr. Napier agreed to film it," Cora said with a bit of wistful sigh. "Although, a recording is hardly the same as seeing it live…"

"Mama…" Sybil warned. "Don't go and try to make her feel guilty for missing it."

Edith nodded her head. "Exactly; when Anthony and I set the date, we didn't know it would also happen to coincide with the day she took office—of course, we didn't know she would win then, did we?"

Robert nodded his head, agreeing with his daughters. "As much as I wish Mary could be here, _and I'm sure she wishes it too,_" he added, looking especially at Edith. It was common knowledge that the two sisters hadn't always been the best of friends, but over the past year or two, they had been trying to mend things between them. "It probably isn't wise to start one's career as Prime Minister by putting off state business to attend a wedding."

"Even if it's your sister's," Sybil sighed, putting her arm around Edith and giving her a squeeze.

"Oh I don't mind, truly," Edith reassured. "Besides, the last thing I would want is the Paparazzi ruining the ceremony."

"Here, here!" Robert agreed with a lift of his champagne glass.

"Speaking of missing guests…" Cora began, turning her gaze now to Sybil, who did everything she could to not blatantly roll her eyes at what she knew was coming, "it's a shame that Larry couldn't be here, either."

Sybil nodded her head. "He's ill, the poor dear; dreadful head cold that started the other day and seems to be lingering. He didn't want to ruin the ceremony with his constant sneezing and coughing."

"Oh, well I am sorry to hear that," Cora sighed. "Hopefully he'll be well enough for when you take your annual 'writer's retreat'!"

Sybil smiled at this but began to shake her head. "I don't know if I'll be going to Ireland this year."

"What?" Edith looked at her strangely. "But you're always gushing about how beautiful it is in December—how you get some of 'your best work done' while you're there."

"I know, but…Larry says his job is breathing down his neck and doesn't think he can afford any holiday time before Christmas; he says I should still go, and I told him I'd consider it, but…I don't know, I just don't care to be away from him for that long…"

Edith lifted a somewhat skeptical brow at this. "So speaketh the feminist in the family."

Sybil swatted her arm. "Being a feminist doesn't mean I can't crave being around 'my man' any more so than 'non-feminists'; and besides, I said I'm _considering_ my options. I haven't made my mind up just yet…"

"Well, whatever you choose to do, you will be joining us all in Yorkshire for Christmas, I hope!"

"Yes, Mama," Sybil smiled, reaching out and squeezing her mother's hand. "How goes the planning for that?"

"Well, most of the invitations have been sent; there are a few family members that we're waiting to hear back from, such as your cousin Rose—"

Sybil's brow furrowed at the mention of her cousin. "I didn't see her today, did you invite her?" she asked Edith.

"Of course!" Edith said with a nod of her head. "The only members of the family who couldn't make it were Mary and Grandmama," she explained, referring to their American grandmother. "Rose did send an RSVP—are you sure you didn't see her?"

"I don't recall seeing her in the receiving line," their father murmured, looking around the room.

Edith shrugged. "I'll telephone her when Anthony and I return from Barbados at the end of next week."

Robert groaned. "I can't understand why you and Anthony aren't spending Christmas there—ouch!" he looked at his wife who was giving him a stern expression after swatting his arm for suggesting that their daughter not be home for Christmas.

Edith laughed. "As nice as the idea is of being in a tropical paradise for the holidays, you know Anthony can't be away for very long—in some ways it's a miracle that the BBC is allowing him to have a holiday at all in December! But he needs to be back to oversee the final edits of the Christmas Special, before it airs."

"Never a dull moment in the life of a television producer," Robert sighed.

"And I look forward to watching it with you both on Christmas night," Cora added, smiling warmly and squeezing her daughter's hand.

Sybil sighed and glanced at her watch. "I should be going; I told Larry I would try to leave a little early."

"Oh, so soon?" her mother frowned.

"At least take a piece of cake home with you!" Edith insisted. "I'll go rescue Anthony from Granny and we'll cut it."

As the bride left her family to go in search of her groom, she nearly ran into a tall, lanky waiter, who quickly apologized and righted the tray of hors d'oeuvres he was holding. Dear Lord, that would have been the mother of all disasters! The waiter counted his lucky stars and continued moving around the room, trying to offer the tray to anyone standing close by.

…Or to be more specific, any _women_ standing close by.

…And to be even more specific, any preferably young and _single_ women close by.

"Delicious delicacies!" he announced, holding the tray out for two ladies who were chatting. They looked at the tray and then shook their heads, carrying on with their conversation as if he weren't even there.

_Right then_, he thought to himself. He moved on and noticed a pretty redhead who was chatting on her mobile. "Best finger sandwiches in all of Britain!" he announced, smiling at the redhead, but she turned her back on him without even a sideways glance and continued talking to whoever it was on her phone.

He frowned and moved away. A blond woman he had noticed earlier was chatting with another woman, a pretty brunette who he had seen speaking with the bride. "Ladies, would you care for a deli delight?"

The two women looked at him and then down at his tray and then back at him. They were a little more polite than the first two women he had run into, and said a soft, "no thank you," before continuing whatever discussion they were having.

Another woman stood just a few feet away, and he put on his best smile before bringing the tray towards her. "Would you care for—" However, he stopped short when a large and rather muscular man came up and lazily threw his arm around the woman.

"Don't mind if I do!" the man grinned, taking a rather large handful of whatever the hors d'oeuvres were from the waiter's tray, before smiling down at the woman beside him and giving her rump a pinch which caused her to laugh and swat at the man's chest. _So much for being single,_ he thought with a groan.

He moved away then, and looked around the room. Weddings were supposed to be the best place to meet women! Wasn't that what happened in all the movies? Where were all the miserable single ladies who were so jealous of the bride that they were prepared to sleep with any man who started a conversation with them?

_Now hang on…_

He looked across the room…and standing near a window that overlooked the Thames, was a lovely young woman who looked…rather lonely?

She wasn't talking to anyone, she was just standing there…her arms folded behind her back, looking about the room, but it was clear as the eye could see that she didn't know anyone else. Yes…yes, this could be it! This could be the one!

"Alright, stay calm," he murmured to himself as he straightened his suit jacket. "Cool and casual, cool and casual…"

He put on his best smile, one that his aunt told him made him look quite charming and "debonair", quickly checked his breath, before sauntering over to where the lady stood. "Hi…" he said with a grin.

The woman looked up at him, her eyes going wide as she took in his height. _Ladies love tall men_, he reminded himself. At least that was what he had read once on some dating advice column.

"Hi...?" the woman replied, although she seemed a little confused by his addressing her. Perhaps she hadn't expected anyone to notice her?

He remembered the tray he was holding and more or less thrust it towards her, practically pushing the thing under her nose. "Would you care for one?"

She put up a hand and tried to gently push the tray away from her. "No thanks," she muttered.

_Keep the conversation going_, he reminded himself. _Say something funny, women love funny men!_ "Hmmm…can't say that I blame you," he sighed, picking up one of the hors d'oeuvres. "I mean…it looks like a baby's finger, doesn't it?" he laughed before popping it into his own mouth…and then quickly made a face. Good God, the thing tasted like one too! However, he somehow managed to swallow the horrid thing, whatever it was. "Ugh…you made the right decision," he coughed.

She didn't laugh. _It's ok, she just might be shy…introduce yourself! That will put her at ease_. "I'm Alfred," he said with a smile.

The girl looked at him and gave a smile of her own; a rather pinched and reluctant-looking smile. "I'm Ivy," she replied.

"Nice to meet you, Ivy," he grinned. "And what do you do?"

She glanced down at the tray he was holding. "I'm a cook, actually."

"A cook?" he repeated, smiling at this. Fantastic; food was a subject he could talk about. "Are you a chef for a restaurant?"

"No," she replied. "But I do run my own catering business now."

"Oh really?" he said, impressed. "Do you do…you know, weddings?"

"Yes," she murmured, glancing down at his tray again.

"Excellent," he grinned. "A shame you couldn't do this one."

She folded her arms across her chest. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone who works here knows that Ol' Bossy Patmore won't allow 'outsiders' to come in and cater any events at _The Edwardian._"

Ivy nodded her head at this. "Yes, I know 'Ol' Bossy Patmore' quite well, actually."

"Really?" he asked, surprised by this news.

Ivy nodded again. "I used to work with her, in the kitchens here."

His eyes widened at this. "Oh! Oh…gosh…" he wasn't sure what to say now. But a warning bell was going off in his head.

"That's right," Ivy murmured. "But you're right…she doesn't like allowing 'outsiders' as you call them, to come in and cater events here."

His stature relaxed a bit.

"But she made an exception for me."

That moment of relaxation was wiped away. "Oh?" he swallowed, his voice squeaking a bit. "And um…what did you do?"

She looked down at his tray, then back up into his eyes, her stare cold and hard. "What you claim looks and tastes like 'baby fingers'."

_Abort! Abort!_

Alfred gave a weak smile…muttered a "have a lovely evening," under his breath, and then quickly retreated to the kitchen where he hoped and prayed she wouldn't follow him…or come in and report him to Mrs. Patmore.

"Oh God," he groaned, collapsing on a nearby chair where another waiter was sitting, preparing a fresh hors d'oeuvres tray.

"What's the matter with you?" the blond waiter asked, glancing over at Alfred.

Alfred ran his hands across his face and through his hair. He glanced over at Jimmy, and found himself shaking his head. How did Jimmy do it? The kitchen maids couldn't stop giggling about him; truly, he did seem to have every woman falling all over themselves for him…and a few men too, for that matter.

"What?" Jimmy repeated, noticing the sour expression his friend was wearing. "What's wrong?"

Alfred opened his mouth to tell Jimmy about his encounter with "Ivy the Ice Queen" when he paused and considered Jimmy's question. "You know what's wrong? What's really wrong?" he began.

Jimmy chuckled. "What?"

"English girls."

Jimmy stopped what he was doing and looked at Alfred as if he had grown a second head. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Alfred repeated, then paused and looked around to make sure none of the kitchen maids were nearby to hear him. "You asked me what was wrong, and I told you; English girls."

"What's wrong with English girls?" Jimmy chuckled.

"They're stuck up!" Alfred groaned. "Full of themselves! They won't give a bloke like me the time of day!"

Jimmy did his best to keep from laughing. "Are you sure that's _their_ fault?"

"I'm serious, Jimmy! I can't get one English girl to go on a date with me, let alone have a conversation with me before blowing me off!"

"Alright," Jimmy sighed, deciding it was better to just go along with Alfred's griping. "So…? What are you going to do about it?"

Alfred didn't have an answer ready for that question. However, it didn't take him long to come up with one. "I need to go abroad…"

Jimmy frowned at this. "Abroad? Can you be more specific?"

"America…"

"What?"

"America!" Alfred grinned. "I should go to America! And meet…American girls!"

Jimmy gave up on the hors d'oeuvres tray and stared at his friend as if he had lost his mind. He probably had, if truth be told. "Alfred…I don't think your 'lady troubles' shall we say, will simply 'disappear' if you travel to America."

But a smile had crossed over Alfred's face, and Jimmy knew that look all too well_. Oh God, he's got this idea in his head and now he's going to become obsessed with it. _

"No, Jimmy…you're wrong. American girls will love me," he grinned. "If anything, they'll love me for my cute British accent."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "You don't' have a 'cute' British accent, Alfred. You're not some member of 'The Wanted' or 'One Direction'."

But Alfred wasn't paying attention to Jimmy's protests. He was determined. And he knew it to be true; America was his promised land. "Just wait and see, Jimmy," he vowed. "I'll go to America, and be declared a sex god."

"You'll be declared insane," Jimmy groaned.

"YOU'LL BOTH BE DECLARED _DEAD_ IF YOU DON'T START TAKING THAT NEWLY CUT CAKE OUT TO THE GUESTS THIS SECOND!"

They leapt to attention, then. "Yes, Mrs. Patmore!"

* * *

Anna was sitting by herself, munching on the last of her cake and smiling happily at the dancing bride and groom. She glanced at the empty chair next to her and sighed, fighting the frown that threatened to form on her pretty face.

_He didn't come._

She had been hoping he would be there. After all, not only did he work for Robert, like herself, but she knew that the two of them were good friends (back from their army days from what she understood).

She had been tempted to ask him if he wanted to carpool to the wedding. She had been debating about asking him that all week. And she nearly had, on Thursday night…

But she chickened out at the last minute.

_Didn't matter anyway_, she thought sadly. _He's not here; suppose he had something more important to do. And besides, how foolish would I have looked, asking him if he would like to share a car, when he clearly wasn't going to be attending?_ Yes, she supposed she should thank her lucky stars in the end.

She shook her head and tried to focus again on the dancing couple. She was very happy for Edith Crawley—no, Edith _Strallen_, she had to remind herself. She had worked for Robert Crawley for almost seven years, and during the various office Christmas parties, had gotten to know his family quite well.

However, there was someone in the room who was looking very…intensely at the couple…and Anna frowned as she watched the man, sitting only a few feet away from her, hunched over and holding what looked like a camcorder, filming their dancing.

That was the best man! A Mr. Napier, if she recalled. He was filming the wedding on the Crawley's behalf for their eldest daughter and Edith's eldest sister, who was now Prime Minister. Well, he certainly seemed to be going above and beyond in his duties to film every moment. She moved a little closer, her eyes focused on him as he continued filming. He was gazing ahead, never taking his eyes off the bride and groom. Sir Anthony was facing them, while Edith's back was turned. She was resting her head against Sir Anthony's chest, while he held their entwined fingers against his heart, his cheek resting against her dark-blond curls, his eyes closed in happy concentration as they swayed to the music.

And Mr. Napier never took his eyes off them.

And…was it Anna's imagination? No…she swore she could see…a tear in his eye?

Her heart went out to the best man. She didn't know him, she didn't know anything about him, other than what he was representing at this wedding, and from what she gathered, was a dear friend to Sir Anthony Strallen. Why was he so sad? With a deep breath, she got up and moved to an empty chair just next to him. He didn't even react to when she sat down. _Wow…he's really _that_ focused._

"Are you in love with him?"

That got him out of his stupor. "W-w-what?" he stammered in surprise, turning to face her.

Anna gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I just saw you staring and thought I would ask the one question I doubted anyone would think of asking you."

He blinked for a few minutes and then glanced back at the couple before looking back at her. "I…I um…" he shook his head. "I was staring?"

Anna bit her lip to keep from laughing. She didn't want the poor man to think she was making fun of him. "Just a little," she confessed. He turned bright red and swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, his eyes looking down at the camcorder in his hands. "So are you?"

"What? NO!" he fiercely shook his head. "No, no, not at all!"

_The gentleman doth protest too much_, she couldn't help but think. However, she kept the words to herself and only teased very lightly, saying, "So that's a 'no' then?"

He looked at her and she smiled back, showing that she was simply trying to help lighten the mood. He returned her smile, although he looked a little embarrassed. "Evelyn Napier," he introduced, for lack of anything else to say at the moment.

Anna took his offered hand and shook it. "Anna Smith."

"Nice to meet you Anna."

"You too, Evelyn."

A pause fell between the two of them, and Mr. Napier then lifted his head, noticing how the DJ was changing the song. They had just been listening to _"And I Will Always Love You"_ by Whitney Houston. "Thank God," he muttered as the song finally ended.

"I agree," Anna groaned. "What do you think he'll play next?"

"Can anything be as bad as that?" he ran a hand through his hair and watched with trepidation as the DJ changed records. "What do you think? Is this the worst DJ in the world?"

Anna made a face. "It all depends on what comes up next…"

Just then the DJ took over the microphone and began to announce the next song, one that he felt all the lovers in the room would appreciate and could relate to…and even went on admit how it always moved him to cry. Anna was already wincing at the prospect.

_"It must have been cold there in my shadow…  
To never have sunlight on your face…  
You were content to let me shine…  
You always walked a step behind…"_

"Oh good God…"

"I didn't think it was possible!"

"But it is; he's done it, he's _actually_ gone and done it."

"Worst DJ in the world!"

"_Did you ever know that you're my hero?  
You're everything I wish I could be!  
I can fly higher than an eagle!  
'Cause you are the wind beneath my wings!"_

* * *

The sky was beginning to darken, even though it wasn't even five o'clock. It was also getting significantly colder. Sybil hurried her steps, clutching the slice of cake Edith had given her to take back and share with Larry.

"I'm back, love!" she called as she opened the door and locked it behind her. There was a strange scent in their bungalow…almost like…some kind of air freshener? Surely Larry hadn't been cleaning. _Unless the poor dear got sick and needed to clean up after himself_. She hung up her coat and was about to go around the corner that would lead to their bedroom…when she was stopped short by the appearance of…her cousin?

"Rose?"

"Sybil!" Rose gasped, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. Her appearance also seemed somewhat disheveled. "I…I thought I heard your voice!" she tried to put on a smile and even went so far as to lean in and hug her, but quickly let her go and took several steps back, folding her arms across her chest and looking anywhere but into her eyes.

"Rose…I…what are you doing here?" Sybil asked, surprised by the sight of her cousin. "Were you at the wedding? I didn't see you—"

"OH! Oh gosh, was…was that today?"

Sybil frowned, feeling a little confused by her cousin's behavior. "Rose, are you alright?"

"Um…no," she mumbled, looking down at the ground again hugging her arms even tighter around herself. "I…I um…I broke up with my boyfriend," she explained.

"Oh…" Sybil wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. It was rumored that Rose's boyfriend was in truth a married man, although Sybil didn't know the full details if the man was "happily" married or separated and the divorce hadn't come through. "Well…I um…I'm sorry?"

Rose made some sort of dismissive gesture with her hand. "Don't be; he was a complete tosser," she groaned. "Anyway, I…I just thought I would come over here, and we could grumble over a bottle of wine, but…but I completely forgot about the wedding, and…well, that would explain why you weren't here," she finished, although her words sounded more and more mumbled as she went on.

"So…did Larry let you in?"

"What?" Rose asked, seeming to be slightly thrown by the question. "Oh! Oh, um…yes, yes, he did."

Something didn't seem…right.

"Where is he now?"

"Um…in the loo," Rose made a motion down the hall, but she still kept her eyes downcast.

Sybil's brow was furrowed…and she put the cake down on the nearby table and began to go down the hall, passing the guest bathroom which was dark and unused. Not that that should be too surprising, for if Larry were to use a bathroom, he would be using the one connected to their bedroom. But that strange, alarming feeling was growing more and more with each step, and she ignored her cousin who was calling out to her, asking her what she was doing, telling her Larry would be out soon, and then even made some kind of mention that he had told her he was going to take a shower—but Sybil didn't stop for one second…she simply pushed the bedroom door open…and stared at the rumpled bed sheets.

Larry had been in bed all day, or so he had told her. Should rumpled bed sheets really be that alarming?

…Yes, they should…when several condom wrappers lay on the ground by Rose's discarded bra.

Sybil stared at the bra and wrappers for what seemed like an eternity. She then lifted her head towards the bathroom door, which stood ajar, and listened to the shower spray. She walked towards the door…and paused just outside as she heard Larry turn the shower off. With pained-filled eyes, she pushed the bathroom door open…and watched as Larry, with his back turned and a towel wrapped around his waist, was slightly hunched over, toweling his hair.

"Oh, so _now_ you want to join me?" he chuckled at hearing the door squeak. "Well, I suppose I can be persuaded to get back in; I think we have enough hot water and Sybil won't be home till—"

"I left early."

"JESUS!" he nearly slipped in the tub in his effort to whirl around and face her. Nothing needed to be further said…his guilt was apparent.

She stared at him in hurt and disbelief. Her chest tightened at the sight of his guilty expression...and it wasn't because he regretted what he had done, but because he was sorry he had been found out. And now it all made sense…

His urging that she still go ahead with her trip, even though he wouldn't be able to join her. Rose's absence from the wedding that she had apparently "forgot". And of course, what he had said to her earlier: _"__Don't come rushing home because of me. I'll be fine; I'm going to stay in bed…"_

_ I told him I loved him. I tell him every day that I love him…but I honestly can't remember the last time he told me the same…_

Lord, what a fool she had been.

"Syb…Syb, wait!"

She slammed the bathroom door behind her and marched back into the bedroom. Rose was standing there, looking nervous, biting her fingernails, and crying—CRYING! The girl had the gall to cry in front of her? IN HER HOME? A home that she had made with _her_ boyfriend who her cousin just so happened to be sleeping with? Sybil bent down and picked up Rose's bra and threw it in her cousin's face. "Rose…I think it would be very wise right now for you to leave."

"Sybil…I…I'm so sorry—"

"GET OUT!"

Her cousin didn't hesitate any longer; with her bra clutched to her chest, she did just that, the door banging shut in her wake.

Larry emerged from the bathroom then, still wrapped in a towel, still looking shocked by her sudden appearance, as if he should be; she lived here for God's sake! THIS was _THEIR_ home! "Syb—"

"I'm going to stay with Anna tonight," Sybil announced, marching over to her writing desk and picking up her precious typewriter and putting it in a special traveling case that she kept in the closet. She also grabbed a gym bag and threw in a few clothing items. "Hopefully she won't mind. She lives closer than Mama or Papa, and quite frankly, I don't feel like trying to explain what's happened to them, not right now."

"Syb—"

"I will be back tomorrow at 10am. I want you gone. I don't expect you to pack everything of yours, just several suitcases full so you won't need to come back here for a few days," she moved past him into the bathroom to get her toothbrush and other toiletries. "I don't know what I'll do exactly; I'll need to think about that tonight—but sometime before the week is through, we'll…we'll go over what needs to be done about the bungalow…after all, we _both_ paid for it," she muttered, throwing the items into the bag and zipping it up. With the gym bag slung over her shoulder, she picked up the typewriter case and marched back to the front hall where she had left her coat. "But before Christmas is here, we'll have everything settled, and one of us will be moved out."

"Sybil, stop!" he had followed her into the front hall and had actually grabbed her about the shoulders and whirled her around to face him. "Would you listen to yourself? Move out? Are you mad?"

Was _she_ mad? He was asking her if _she_ was the mad one?

"I mean…these things happen," he attempted to explain.

Oh good God in heaven…_he_ was mad!

"These things _happen?_" she repeated, slowly, trying to give him time to think about what he had just said to her.

"Couples have disagreements all the time…" he went on.

Disagreement? Sleeping with her cousin…_was a disagreement?_

"But…but you don't just fly off the handle like this!" he tried to reason, a soft laugh in his voice as if he saw great humor in their so-called "disagreement" and that she was silly not to see it too. "You don't just jump to the worse-case conclusion!"

_The worse-case conclusion…_

He opened his mouth to say something further, but she had heard more than enough. "Larry…" she interrupted whatever thought he was going to graciously bestow upon her. "I only have four words to say to you…" she picked up the slice of wedding cake Edith had given her. "Eat shit and die." And with that, she took the cake and smashed it against his face.

"SYBIL!" he gasped, choking on the cake that she not only forced partially down his throat, but also up into his nose. She had gotten some into his eyes as well, meaning he truly was helpless in this moment, which was good. Although a part of her wished he could see what she was about to do. She wanted to see him look upon her with terror…but she would just have to be satisfied with him flailing about, blindly.

Punching was too good for him. Instead, she kicked her leg out and hit him hard, in the groin, causing him to cry out in pain. He hadn't collapsed to the ground, however, which meant she hadn't hit him hard enough. So she kicked her leg out a second time—only this time he was prepared, and grabbed her leg in mid-kick.

"AHHH!" Sybil lost her balance and fell to the ground, hard, crying out in pain herself, as she swore she heard…and felt…some bones in her foot and ankle crack and splinter. Still, even though she was lying on the ground, her other leg was free, and without a second's thought, she lashed out and kicked him, hard, in the jaw and nose…and groaned in satisfaction as she felt the bones in his oh-so handsome face crack and break beneath her heel.

Larry let out another cry of pain, and fell back completely on the ground, blood spurting all over his face and staining the wedding cake that was still smeared there. Her poor ankle and foot was released, and with a painful moan, she slid her body away from his…until she reached her purse and pulled out her mobile.

"Hello? Anna?" she gasped into the phone, her foot and ankle already beginning to swell. "Yes, I um…can you come and pick me up? I'm at my place…I'll explain everything later…but…but I need you to take me to the hospital…" she paused, trying to drown out Anna's litany of sudden concerned questions. "I promise, I will tell you _everything_ later…but I really need you to come and get me now, if you don't mind…Larry?" she glanced over to where he lay, moaning and writhing on the ground, blood still spurting from his lips, jaw, and nose. "The only thing I'm worried about where he's concerned is keeping his blood from staining the hardwood floors…" she paused again, wincing slightly at the cries on the other end of the phone. "Anna…Anna, please…stop screaming…"

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. 5 Weeks to Christmas (part III)

_I'm so glad people are enjoying this story! Thank you SO MUCH for the lovely encouragement and comments and follows! I really wanted to get through the "5 Weeks..." chapters (this will be the last of those, as the countdown gets closer). I will update again soon, but I REALLY need to work on my other two fics before I do; if you're not familiar with either of them, please consider giving them a read if you'd like! Or any of my stories! Anyway, this chapter will begin to pave the way for Carson/Hughes fans, as well as Anna/Bates. And a certain "femme fatal" shall we say, will also make her appearance. And more laughs from Thomas ;o) THANKS FOR READING AND HOPE YOU ENJOY!_

* * *

_Chapter Three_

**5 Weeks to Christmas (part III)**

Charles Carson collapsed in his chair, groaning and sighing with relief as he was finally able to take a break off his feet…the first time he had done so all day. A light tap was heard on his office door, and he tried to sit up straight and continue to look professional as he murmured, "come in!"

Beryl Patmore poked her head in and smiled. Charles returned the smile. "Everything finished?"

"Yes, praise the Lord," Beryl groaned, not pausing to take the chair opposite his. "I can't imagine the massive blisters that will be on my feet tomorrow," she grumbled.

"Yes, I don't think we've had three receptions on one day since…June, was it?"

"At least," Beryl groaned. "It's days like this that make me look forward to my retirement."

Charles chuckled softly, understanding her meaning. They were both in their 60's, and had been working at _The Edwardian_ for well over thirty years. He himself had been contemplating retirement…his only problem was he wasn't quite sure what he would do with himself.

"I think we deserve this…" he rose from his chair and cross the office to a small cabinet.

"That better not be tea," Beryl warned. "I think I need something a little stronger after this day, Mr. Carson."

"What would you say to a brandy?"

"Perfect!"

He poured them each a fine glass, and then returned to his chair, once again sighing with relief for being off his feet. "So, Mrs. Patmore," he began. "Tell me the truth: how were things?"

Beryl took a good sip of her brandy before she answered him. "Bedlam, naturally," she groaned. "And I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but you really need to talk to Alfred and Jimmy; if they're not sitting and grousing in the kitchen, they're in the ballroom flirting with the guests!"

Charles bristled a little at this. He did not tolerate "unprofessionalism" very well. "It already occurred to me," he muttered, taking a mental note for Monday's staff meeting. "Anything else? Oh, how are things with your new sous-chef? I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've forgotten her name—"

"Daisy?" Beryl put down her glass and from what Charles could tell, seemed to be fighting the urge to groan. "She's a good girl, don't get me wrong…" she paused and sighed. "But I don't know, Mr. Carson, I mean, I don't know if she's cut out for this…" she sighed and took another sip of her brandy. "She has potential, don't get me wrong! But…well, maybe she'd be better suited to something specific?"

"Meaning?"

"Well, she baked all three wedding cakes for today—"

"All three?" he was surprised by this. Beryl nodded her head and continued.

"That's right, all three…and I don't know about you, but I like to 'taste the product' before it goes out, it's a cook thing," she reassured. "And each of those cakes was different from the other; no two were alike…and I have to say, they were all scrumptious down to the last crumb!"

Charles eyed her slightly, as if accusing her of sampling more than needs be, of the three wedding cakes. Beryl paid him no mind. "So with that being said…I'm wondering if her true talents lie in the art of pastry?"

Charles thought on the cook's words and found himself nodding. "_The Edwardian_ did, once upon a time, have a very exclusive bakery...it would be nice to bring something like that back…"

"I agree," Beryl said with a nod. "But she's not ready for that just yet, mind you. She could still use a little more training…" she paused to take another sip of her brandy, before murmuring (more to herself than to the concierge across from her), "I have a right mind to encourage her to go to pastry school—I'll even fund it out of my own savings if she needs help," she added, surprising Charles by this sudden generosity. "Oh why not, it's Christmas, isn't it?" she laughed. "Yes…I know an excellent place in Paris—she'd do well there, I have no doubt. I'll try to remember to mention it on Monday when I see her."

Charles didn't know what to say to that, so he simply took a sip from his own brandy glass.

"Oh, and Mr. Carson, I know you're fond of the lad, and I like him too, he's very good at his job…but I think you need to talk with young William; poor boy looked so…so…I don't know, 'lost'."

Charles did stiffen at the mention of this. He had been worrying about William, and not just today. There was a change in the lad, something had happened, it seemed. William was usually very cheerful and attentive, but lately, he seemed…well, for lack of a better word, depressed. But it was a depression that had been lasting for days—weeks, even, if he paused to think about it. In the afternoons, just before high tea at the hotel, William would join him in his office for their own tea, and they would talk about the day and all that was happening in the hotel…but more than just that, they would discuss books and events in the news, and a month ago, William had finally convinced Charles to sit down and watch a few episodes of _"Doctor Who"_ after the footman learned (much to his shock and horror) that Charles had never watched an episode. And even though it was something Charles didn't like discussing, let alone revealing, in front of others…he could not deny he enjoyed those moments where he could tell William all about the most recent episode he had seen (the lad was letting him borrow his DVD's, and Charles was rather upset that Rose was leaving; he had a hard time imagining any other woman as the Doctor's companion. Of course, he had thought similar such things with the older seasons). But even putting aside that longing to discuss something as frivolous as a television show—Charles missed simply talking to his friend.

"I…I haven't the foggiest, Mrs. Patmore," Charles admitted. "I don't know what's going on with him. It's been weeks since we've sat down and talked about anything that's unrelated to _The Edwardian_, and even then, he seems so…distant."

Beryl nodded her head. "Well…won't this be the first Christmas without his dear mother?"

Charles' eyes widened at this revelation. Good God, why hadn't he thought of that? Yes, of course…that had to be it. Poor William's mother had passed away in late February, after a long battle with cancer. He remembered how William had been very distraught in the weeks leading up to her death, and had been, naturally, distant afterwards. But as the months progressed, he seemed to be doing better and better…so it never occurred to Charles…

Lord, what a fool he had been.

"Mrs. Patmore, I don't know what I'd do without you," he sighed, taking a long sip from his brandy glass.

She chuckled to herself and took another sip from hers. Little did Charles Carson know, she had a plan brewing; and if everything went the way she was hoping, he would soon be saying those words to a dear friend of hers…and mean them in a very _different_ manner, as well.

The next day, on a sunny but cold Sunday afternoon, Beryl was sitting at a familiar table in the small café that was just around the corner from Number 10 Downing, when the door opened and she looked up from the pamphlet she had been reading to catch the gaze of her dear friend. "There you are!" she playfully chastised. "And here I thought since the place was closer to where you now worked, you would be able to get out more easily!"

Elsie grinned and shook her head with a sigh. "As I've told you, it's not as if I'm housekeeper to just _any_ house in all of Britain."

Beryl made a "pfft" noise before gesturing for a waitress to come and serve them their tea. "You were a housekeeper for a wealthy estate in the wilds of Yorkshire for nearly fifteen years before you came down here; a place that was ten times the size of where you serve now!"

Elsie shook her head. "Aye, but my employer here is _quite a bit_ different."

Beryl waved her hand away, as if there was no further interest in pressing the subject. Elsie couldn't help but smile at this, and thanked the waitress who brought their tea and a small plate of biscuits.

"So…? I'm waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Beryl asked, sipping her tea.

Elsie rolled her eyes. "You called yesterday in the middle of what sounded like Victoria Station, and you only ring in situations like that when you're ready to commit murder on someone. So I'm waiting for you to unleash your frustrations and share a good story with me while I quietly sip my tea and enjoy one of these digestives."

However, Beryl had other plans up her sleeve. "Elsie…I was wondering…"

Elsie Hughes abruptly stopped chewing her biscuit and looked at her friend with a wary expression.

"Well, I have a…a friend that I really think you should meet—"

"Oh Beryl, please," Elsie groaned.

"What?"

"I know exactly what you're going to suggest! And the answer is no."

"What do you think I'm going to suggest?" Beryl asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"What you're always trying to suggest—that I…that I try…" she felt so embarrassed at the thought. Really, at her age? She was far too old! "That I try to…meet new people."

Beryl frowned. "What's wrong with _meeting new people_?"

"Absolutely nothing! But there's always a certain 'motivation' to these meetings that you _encourage_ me to attend."

"Elsie—all I'm trying to do is introduce you to new people! You've been living here in London for almost an entire year, and who do you really spend time with and talk to, besides myself?"

"I'm far too busy!" Elsie protested, although she knew it was a weak protest.

"Pfft," Beryl muttered, before taking another sip of her tea. "Anyway, come to the hotel on one of your afternoon's off…let me introduce you to some people who I am just sure you'll get on with splendidly."

Elsie groaned. She might as well agree to it; otherwise Beryl would never cease. Once her friend got an idea into her head, no matter how mad of an idea it was, it was impossible to make her see reason. She sighed and took a sip of her tea and resumed chewing on her biscuit.

Knowing that she had succeeded, at least in convincing her friend to come by and "meet" Mr. Carson, Beryl now began munching on a biscuit of her own. She knew her friend was a cynic; Love had eluded her too often. Still, at the very least, she wanted to prove to Elsie, above all things, that Love wasn't just a blessing for the young.

* * *

On the Monday following Edith's wedding, word reached Robert and Cora Crawley about what had happened between their youngest daughter and her now ex-boyfriend, Larry Grey. "I just can't believe it!" Robert roared into his phone. He was already at the design firm where he worked, a small business he had started twenty years ago. "That…that…" oh he was fuming. "That little…prick of a man…better know what's good for him and emigrate from Britain—permanently!"

"Robert, you need to calm down—"

"CALM DOWN?" he roared. "Cora…HOW CAN I calm down? I've just learned that my youngest daughter had to go the hospital, is suffering from a broken foot—"

"A twisted ankle and some broken toes, actually."

"I SHOULD SUE THE BASTARD!"

Cora sighed. "Now who sounds like the American?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't want our family to have ANYTHING to do with the Grey's!"

"Now Robert, Larry's father _is_ Mary's godfather—"

"I don't care; if he wishes to keep contact, then he can bloody well pick up the phone and apologize for how abominably his son has treated our daughter!"

"Robert, please sit down—"

"I will not, I—" he paused and looked down at the ground where he was standing. "How did you know I wasn't?"

"Because I know you, Robert, we've been married for thirty-four years," Cora couldn't help but laugh. "And whenever you get upset like this, you pace…" she sighed and shook her head. "And you've still haven't sat down yet, have you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I just don't understand how you can be so calm about all this; I mean, aren't you furious too?"

"Of course I'm furious!" Cora groaned. "But we both process our anger differently, Robert, you know that. And I've had a few more hours to process it than you have."

He grumbled something under his breath. "Oh Robert, you're not going to be jealous because Sybil telephoned me, are you?"

"No!" he protested a little too quickly. If and when something bad happened, all of the girls spoke to their mother first; apparently his wife was deemed a "better listener" than he.

"Anyway, I should hang up," Cora sighed. "The children will be back soon from lunch and I need to get things ready for the Nativity play rehearsal."

Cora was a primary school teacher, and for several weeks had been going on and on about this atrocious Nativity play that had whales, lobsters, and an octopus all present at the birth of Jesus, alongside the usual shepherds and wise men. Apparently the headmaster had read about it at some teacher's conference over the summer and loved it. Cora thought the man should have his head examined.

Robert sighed once more, still furious about what had happened to his youngest daughter, and still very much wanting to skin the wanker alive. "I don't care what my mother or Rosamond say; Rose is NOT invited to the party this Christmas…at least not this year," he grumbled.

He imagined Cora's face on the other end of the line, imagined her rolling her eyes at him…but at the same time, he imagined her smiling and shaking her head at his attitude, before murmuring her agreement…which she did. They hung up then, and only then, did he collapse into his chair.

However, he hadn't had a chance to relax when there was a knock at his door.

"Come in!" he groaned, running a hand across his face and over his eyes.

"That sounded like a rather…passionate conversation…"

Robert nearly fell out of his chair at the sudden female voice. He straightened himself and swallowed, looking up into the ice-blue eyes of the pretty brunette who was standing just inside his office.

"Um…yes, that was…that was my wife," Robert explained. Jane was new to the office, and came highly recommended by each of her references. She giggled, and Robert couldn't help but think of sleigh bells.

"I apologize," she murmured. "I didn't mean to pry…I just couldn't help but overhear."

"No, no, it's quite alright," he reassured, trying to straighten his tie which felt a little loose. "I um…I should apologize for being so loud."

"Oh no need to apologize," Jane reassured, before leaning towards his desk to take his empty coffee mug. "I think it's nice…when a man is loud."

Robert practically choked himself then while fixing his tie. Good God, surely…surely she…no, no, that would be absurd. He shook his head and tried to cover the heat in his face by pretending to be taken by a sudden coughing fit. "Um…Jane, would you please send Bates in? I um…well, please."

"Of course," she said with a nod of her head and turned to leave the office, before pausing. "Which one is Mr. Bates?"

"A dark-haired gentleman who no doubt has a mobile permanently strapped to his ear," Robert groaned.

Jane lifted a brow in confusion, but shrugged her shoulders and left the office, closing the door as she went.

Robert immediately began chastising himself. Yes, he could not deny that Jane was very, very pretty—a man would have to be blind not to see that. But he needed to grip on himself. The last thing he needed was to be caught with his eyes lingering a little too long at her shapely legs—and end up with a sexual harassment suit.

* * *

Isobel arrived at the studio, ready for a new day on set. Well, not so much a day "on set"; she would never be on set, but standing off to the side, holding a large notebook and ready to advise Miss Parks, as well as consult the director during various crucial scenes where Ethel, playing the role of a volunteer nurse during WWI, would be seeing to patients in the fictional convalescent home where her character worked. It had been such a thrill to meet Miss Parks and the other actors on Saturday when she had arrived…of course, the biggest and most unexpected surprise had been the new friend she had made.

And speaking of which, he was actually jogging up towards her, a large smile on his face as he greeted her at the studio entrance.

"Good morning, Mrs. Crawley!"

She blushed and returned the smile. "Good morning, Dr. Clarkson!"

"I hope you had a pleasant weekend?"

She smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, actually, although I don't know if spending one's weekend going over director's notes and rechecking the screenplay for historical accuracy is one's idea of fun," she laughed. "But I found it very amusing, to be honest."

He joined her in her laugh. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. There was some drama I was invited to help consult a few years ago—some sort of London-based equivalent to _'ER'_—and when I was offered the chance to go over the script…I couldn't believe some of the mistakes I found! For example, a patient in the episode they were preparing to film was going in for a vasectomy…and the doctors kept referring to it as castration!"

Dr. Clarkson suddenly paled as he realized what he had just said to her…but Isobel only laughed, clearly not embarrassed by the medical terms—or to which portion of the male body—they referred to.

"I can only imagine how annoying that must be—being a doctor and knowing these things, and seeing people who don't know anything about your profession, attempt to write it!"

"Well I can say the same for you, as a historian. In fact, I imagine it's much worse; there are so many inaccuracies made for the sake of 'action' in a story."

Isobel nodded her head. "Yes, one does try to learn how to 'shut that out' but it can be very difficult."

Dr. Clarkson smiled and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "If you don't mind me asking, how did they find out about you?"

Isobel blushed a little at this. "I actually wrote the BBC a letter; I was praising them for their authenticity to the subject matter and the era, but couldn't help to point out some inaccuracies here and there…and what was meant to be a simple one page letter became a novella," she laughed as she recalled the reply she had received in the post. In all honesty, she hadn't expected to receive anything; she figured what was done was done. "And you?"

"I wish I could say it was something as noble as writing a letter, but I'm afraid it's not. One of the producers is actually a patient of mine; he had come in suffering from an ulcer caused no doubt by the stress of this job, and we started talking about the programs, and I mentioned how frustrating it could be sometimes, to see these 'basic inaccuracies'…and the next day he telephoned my office and asked if I would be willing to come in as a consultant!"

"Amazing," Isobel smiled. "Well, it's nice to know that they care at least, to try and be as authentic as possible."

Just then one of the members of the crew ran up to them and said they needed to get started; they had a great deal to film if they wanted to have everything finished before Christmas. Both Isobel and Dr. Clarkson made the move to follow the crew member, and nearly bumped into one another. "My apologies," Dr. Clarkson mumbled, stepping aside and gesturing that Isobel follow first. She blushed and nodded her head in thanks before proceeding.

As they were led to the set where filming would be taking place, Dr. Clarkson bent his head slightly and whispered in her ear. "I must say, Mrs. Crawley…it really is wonderful to have someone here for whom I feel I can actually talk to."

She turned her head slightly and looked up at him. And for the second time since she had met the handsome silver-haired gentleman, Isobel felt her stomach flutter like that of an adolescent girl.

* * *

Anna watched her boss' office door with hawk-like eyes. Mr. Bates—_John_, had been in there for forty-seven minutes exactly. What were they talking about? Oh please, please don't let it be him leaving! She couldn't imagine Robert sacking Mr. Bates, but at the same time, she was…aware…that his "performance" in the office, and his capability to finish his duties by certain deadlines, were lacking. Was something wrong? She chewed on her bottom lip and debated if she should go over and knock on Robert's door and poke her head in, all before Jane could stop her.

But if she did that…what would she say? _Hello! I was simply stopping by to interrupt out of fear that you were about to sack Mr. Bates! _Of course she couldn't say anything like that…but what? She struggling to think of excuses.

The door suddenly opened and Anna sat up to attention.

John Bates emerged…smiling.

_Oh Thank God!_ A sigh of relief escaped her lungs.

The annoying "trill" of a mobile ring filled the air, and Mr. Bates' smile suddenly faded. He reached then into his pocket and picked up the phone, quickly answering it without even bothering to look and see who the call was from.

"I'm here…" he answered. "Yes, yes, go ahead, you can talk…"

Anna found herself chewing on her bottom lip again. Mr. Bates always seemed to be talking on his mobile. A day in the office wouldn't pass without the phone ringing at least six times. She knew it annoyed many of their colleagues, hearing that Nokia trill fill the air at random. Anna just wondered…who is it that called him so frequently? Was it always the same person? Of course, how could she ask him something as personal as that? She didn't even have the courage to ask if he would be interested in carpooling—

"Anna?"

She nearly fell out of her chair when she suddenly realized he, John Bates, was standing right in front of her.

"Oh! She blushed and smiled up at him, praying her face wasn't too red. "Hello, John!"

He smiled back, but Anna could still tell that he looked…anxious. And he hadn't hung up his conversation; he was merely covering the speaker's end of the mobile with his hand. "Robert asked me to tell you that he would like to speak with you."

"Me?" her voice squeaked. Good heavens, what for? Was she going to be sacked for something? _No, no, don't be so silly. Don't be so paranoid!_

However, Mr. Bates must have recognized her nervousness, because he reached out and touched her hand…and Anna swore the entire world melted away. "Nothing to worry about," he whispered, giving her a kind smile. _Oh God, if I weren't already in love with him…_

A voice on the other end of the mobile wailed, and Mr. Bates quickly brought the phone back to his ear. "I'm here, I'm here…" he soothed to whoever was on the other end. Anna watched as he moved away, still talking and trying to calm whoever it was that called…and perhaps kept calling him, every day.

She rose to her feet, debated about whether or not to take a notepad and pen into the office with her, and decided at the last minute against it. Perhaps Robert simply wants to know more about Miss Sybil, and what had happened to her, Saturday night? Anna groaned at the memory. After receiving Sybil's frantic phone call, she left the reception and drove over to the bungalow where she knew Sybil and her boyfriend were living, which really was just around the corner from the church where the wedding had taken place. The same words kept repeating themselves over and over in her head. _"I need you to take me to the hospital…"_ followed by, _"The only thing I'm worried about where Larry is concerned is keeping his blood from staining the hardwood floors…"_

Upon arriving, she was prepared for the most gruesome sight imaginable—she only prayed that Miss Sybil wasn't going to ask for her help in burying Mr. Grey's body. However, Mr. Grey wasn't dead…just writhing on the ground in pain, clutching what looked like a broken nose, while his other hand clutched…oh! Sybil was a few feet away, having slid across the front hallway floor, where she was trying (and failing) to get up and stand on her feet. Anna helped her up, then she hobbled to Anna's car, and without a second glance, they went straight to the hospital, ignoring Mr. Grey completely.

And that was when Sybil told her everything that had happened, before swearing Anna to secrecacy, at least where Miss Sybil's parents were concerned. _Oh God, what if he's upset that I didn't call and tell him right away? _She bit her lip. She hadn't been comfortable with the thought of not saying anything to her boss about his youngest daughter getting into such a fight with her boyfriend that she ended up with a badly twisted ankle and several broken toes.

Jane rose as Anna approached Robert's office. She was all smiles, completely oblivious to how Anna was trembling with worry. Jane knocked on Robert's door, then leaned in and announced Anna was outside, and he murmured for her to come in…and now here she was, standing in her boss' office, trying to swallow the awkward, nervous lump that seemed permanently lodged in her throat.

"Anna!" Robert greeted, in that friendly and warm way he always tried to greet his employees. The lump in her throat quickly disappeared. _See? You had nothing to worry about, you silly woman!_

"Hello, sir," she said with a smile. "Um…I was told you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, yes, please have a seat," he pulled out a chair for her and Anna thanked him, before sitting down. "Coffee? Tea?" Robert asked, but Anna politely shook her head. He sat down then, but instead of sitting behind his desk, he took a chair opposite of her. "First, I would just like to say, 'thank you so much' for…for everything that you did for Sybil."

Anna blushed but smiled. "It was my pleasure, sir. Miss Sybil is a good woman, and she's always been very sweet and friendly to me; why, I remember at that first office Christmas party we had, where I didn't know anyone—and she saw me standing by the bar, looking lost and lonely, and came right over and struck up a conversation about Jane Austen of all things!" she giggled.

Robert laughed and nodded his head. "Yes, that sounds like something Sybil would do," he continued chuckling, before lifting his eyes and meeting hers, a curious expression on his face. "Anna…remind me again, how long have you worked here?"

She straightened up a bit. That was a curious question. "Um…" she paused and did the calculations in her head. "Six years, ten months, three weeks, and I suppose…two days?" she paused and added for humor's sake, "Five hours and four minutes?"

Robert chuckled, but then his expression grew serious. "And…forgive me for prying, but…how long have you been in love with Bates?"

All the color in Anna's face drained away. "W-w-what?"

Robert folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. "How long have you been in love with John Bates?"

Anna was shocked. She couldn't believe out of all the questions a person could be asked…he was asking her this! A part of her wanted to get up and run, and not just out of her boss' office, but out of the building! She shouldn't answer him, she didn't have to answer him, it was in her right not to answer him! And yet…

"Six years, ten months, three weeks, two days, five hours, and three minutes and thirty seconds."

She didn't have to think long and hard about those calculations.

Robert nodded his head. "I thought as much," he sighed.

She swallowed, that nervous lump once again lodged in her throat. "Um…how long have you known?" Oh gosh, was he going to sack her for this? She knew that dating within the office was frowned upon, but technically she and Mr. Bates weren't dating—

"Anna, I didn't call you in here to punish you or reprimand you or anything of the sort," he reassured, interrupting her thoughts.

Still, she couldn't stop feeling nervous. "Do you think everyone knows?"

Robert sighed. "Yes."

_Oh no._ "Do you…do you think Mr. Bates knows?"

Robert didn't hesitate. "Yes."

_OH NO!_ Anna leapt to her feet, practically knocking her chair over at this revelation. "Oh…ooohhh that is bad!"

"Why?" Robert rose and folded his arms across his chest, looking a little confused. "I think the two of you would be perfect together!"

Anna bit her lip. "But…but…"

"Anna, John and I have been good friends for a very long time, back when we were both serving in the British Army as lads. Then, as these things happen, we went our separate ways, I met Cora and got married, and…I'm not really sure where he went, we sadly lost touch—but when I started this business, he was my first employee, and has dedicated so much of his time and talents to this place. So much so that…" he paused and looked down at his hands, catching sight of his wedding ring. "Perhaps it's because Cora and I will be celebrating our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary this Christmas, but…well," he sighed again before continuing. "I just wish that he could know the same sort of happiness I know…"

Anna's felt her face grow extremely hot. Was Robert, her boss, actually…_encouraging her_…to pursue a relationship with Mr. Bates?

"I know, I know, this is all very personal," Robert groaned, looking a little embarrassed himself. "Forgive me, Anna, I just…its Christmas," he sighed, as if that explained everything. "People should be happy at Christmas; and people should have their wishes come true."

"But…forgive me, but…how long have you known…?"

"Well, whenever Bates and I are talking out there in the main office, I do see you staring at him quite a bit."

Anna gasped. "I…I have?"

"Not to mention that the coffee and tea tray for the office is just next to his desk, and you do seem to find the time at least once every hour to go over and refill your mug—so I suppose it was no surprise that when I offered you something to drink, you declined."

A hand flew to Anna's mouth. Oh Lord, she thought she had been so subtle in doing that?

"And then there was the one time I came to your desk to ask you something…and saw a tiny list just off to the side, of 'gift ideas for J.B.'—"

"YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?"

Robert nodded his head. "And I'm sure John does too—well, maybe not about the gift list, but I'm sure he's noticed how you always manage to refill your mug…and give him a smile…but never once do you two try and hold a conversation before either your bashfulness overrules you or his mobile starts ringing."

"Oh this is horrible!" Anna groaned, covering her face in her hands. She was absolutely mortified! How could she look Mr. Bates in the eye, now?

"No, Anna, this is the time; _the time to act!"_ Robert urged. "You love him…and while I don't know the details as to John's feelings for you…I _do_ think it's safe to say that he likes you."

Anna's head snapped up. "W-w-what?"

"And I do believe he would say 'yes' to going for a cup of coffee, or a drink after a long day at work, if you asked him."

She couldn't believe it. Was it possible? Did…did Mr. Bates—_John_—did he…could he…?

There was a knock on the door, and Jane was back, poking her head inside. "Call for you on line two, sir; shall I tell them you're still in a meeting?"

"No, I think we're done," he smiled at Anna before leaning in and whispering, "Remember, it's Christmas…what better time than now to act?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat but nodded her head. "Thank you, sir."

Robert took his phone call and Anna shut the door behind her. _Now was the time to act…NOW was the time to act._ Could she do it? Did she have the courage to walk right up to his desk and ask him to join her for a drink at the pub around the corner?

"_You know I love Christmas I always will…  
My mind's made up the way that I feel…"_

Anna made a face at the music that was blaring out of Jane's stereo. "Oh God, what is that?"

Jane looked up and turned the volume down. "Thomas Barrow's latest," she explained. "A holiday version of _'Love is All Around'_."

Anna shook her head. "Well, it sounds awful!"

Jane laughed. "Yeah, I doubt it will go to number one."

* * *

At a radio station in Watford, Sarah O'Brien sat on a sofa in the hallway, while Thomas was preparing for an interview with the disc jockey of the hour. It had taken practically every last favor she had owed to the owner of the station to get Thomas a spot on the afternoon's entertainment report. No one wanted to have anything to do with the git, and she couldn't exactly blame them. Thomas never made anything easy, and he was completely unpredictable when it came to interviews. She still had nightmares about the one time he was invited to be on David Letterman's talk show in New York, back when _"Love is All Around"_ was a big hit…and how he had arrived drunk and then stood up and "mooned" the audience before leaving.

Yes, she was putting all her chips in, on Thomas Barrow and this "simple" radio interview. _Don't fuck this up, don't fuck this up_, she kept repeating over and over as she watched the "on air" light turn on.

"Welcome back! I'm here with our special guest of the hour, British pop-rock sensation, best known for his classic _'Love is All Around'_…Thomas Barrow!"

Sarah politely clapped from her sofa, before folding her hands in prayer—which wasn't a stretch, considering that Thomas drove her more often to prayer than to drink.

"It's great to have you here on the show, Thomas!"

"And it's great to be here," Thomas replied, looking very casual as he leaned back in his chair.

"And who doesn't love _'Love is All Around'_? What a classic!"

"Yes, only now we've changed the words to 'Christmas'…" Thomas explained. Sarah frowned. He looked bored. This was never a good sign.

"That's right, and just in time for the holiday season—"

"Of course, when else would we release it?" Thomas joked. "It would sound bloody strange coming out around Easter, don't you think?"

The DJ seemed momentarily thrown by Thomas' joke, but laughed and then quickly took control of the interview again. "So, Thomas, what are your thoughts on this new single? Think it has what it takes to be number one?"

A wild bark of laughter filled the airwaves, causing Sarah to jump at the sound. _Oh no…_

"Mike—can I call you Mike?"

"Um, sure, of course—"

"Mike, let's be honest; the song is shit—"

Sarah leapt to her feet. WHAT WAS HE DOING?

"Sentimental, holiday shit, that according to my manager, people like to hear this time of year—but I'm not alone at least, I know there are other artists out there doing the same thing I'm doing."

Oh good God, what had she been thinking? He clearly wasn't ready for this sort of thing—he never would be ready!

"But I ask you, Mike, who would people rather see for the Christmas number one? Some prepubescent boy band whose voices haven't changed but who will wake up surrounded by at least four naked women—_each_, come Christmas morning…or someone like me? An old hack, pushing forty, who will probably spend the day with his manager, who…well, let's be honest, looks like she belongs in a black and white movie starring opposite Boris Karloff?"

Sarah's mouth fell open at the insult. She then turned and looked at her reflection in a nearby sound booth window—her hair wasn't _that_ bad, was it?

"Wow…" the DJ murmured. "Wow…I mean…really, thanks Thomas!"

Thomas looked at the DJ in confusion. "For what?"

"Well…for being…brutally honest like that! Most celebrities aren't willing to say what they really think, and just spend the entire interview promoting whatever it is they're trying to sell."

Thomas laughed. "Ask me anything you'd like!"

_No, no, DON'T ask him that! ANYTHING but that_, Sarah was mentally pleading.

"Alright," the DJ laughed. "Um…the best shag you ever had?"

"Male or female?"

Sarah groaned. The DJ seemed thrown off by the comment, and then quickly tried to recover. "Oh…oh yes, of course! Yes, you were hailed a champion by several organizations for never withholding your sexual preferences—"

"Male, I would have to say was the Duke of Crowborough," Thomas went on, causing both Sarah and the DJ to cringe at the mention of the aristocrat. Thomas then started laughing. "No, I'm just kidding."

The DJ sighed with relief. "You never shagged the Duke of Crowborough?"

"Oh no, I shagged him," Thomas clarified. "But he was rubbish," he made a face at the memory. "Now his brother on the other hand—"

"Um, I'm afraid I'm being told we're out of time!" the DJ interrupted. "So yes, the song is 'Christmas is All Around' by Thomas Barrow, here it is again, thank you Thomas for stopping by, and good luck with the battle for number one!"

The "on air" light went off. Sarah collapsed back onto the sofa, groaning and holding her head in her hands. She could feel the migraine coming—and his name was Thomas Barrow.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	4. 4 Weeks to Christmas (part I)

_Here's the next installment! I know many Sybil/Tom shippers are anxious for our happy couple to meet...hang in there guys, it's coming! Also, I had to make a few changes to some of the "events" in this fic from the actual movie, for example, while a foreign dignitary is coming to see Mary, it will be not the US President. I tried to think of something where I utilize a certain character, and this is what I came up with. I hope no one minds, and that it doesn't offend anyone. I really need to finish/post my next chapter to Downton Abbey & Zombies before I update this again, so I ask for your patience. But I am very happy, as well as amazed by how many people are enjoying this story! Thank you so very much for reading, following, favoriting, and commenting! _

* * *

_Chapter Four_

**4**** Weeks to Christmas (part I)**

"Alright, what's next?" Mary sighed, a little wearily. She had spent a bulk of her morning with her cabinet, locked away and trying to fix the messes left by the last administration. Her head was pounding from all the numbers that had been thrown about, as well as various facts and statistics that her staff had collected. Lord, what she wouldn't give for just a cup of tea…and a biscuit…a _dark-chocolate_ biscuit. Yes, that would be perfect right now…

Gwen was sitting beside her, and pulled out a file, opening it and handing various copies of a report to the other members of the cabinet. "Next is the meeting with the Turkish Ambassador; it's scheduled for Wednesday of next week."

Mary took the copy of the report and had a quick read-through. "Mr. Kamal Pemuk," she read the name aloud, frowning ever so slightly. She heard of the gentleman and knew he was quite handsome…and very much a "lady's man". The tabloids had snapped shots of him coming out of various high-class nightclubs, and always with a different woman; perhaps not the most professional behavior for a foreign ambassador. "I see he wants to have a press conference on Thursday morning."

"Yes," Gwen explained. "He wants to know our stance about the two the Syrian girls."

"The lesbian case," someone down the table muttered under their breath.

Mary's brow furrowed at this. She had heard this story. Indeed, even before she took office, Gwen had told her that various human rights groups were flooding Number 10 Downing with letters, each begging that the British government take a stand and help these two girls who had fled their native land and were currently seeking asylum in Turkey. The reason? Not only had they run away from the arranged marriages their respective fathers had orchestrated, but it was also learned that the girls themselves were lovers, and had been meeting in secret for almost two years. With all the conflict that was going on between Turkey and Syria, the last thing the Turkish government wanted was for a war to break out over two runaway lovers who happened to be women.

"So what exactly does Mr. Pemuk expect us to do?" Mary asked, skimming the report.

"Basically for us to stand by whatever decision the Turkish government makes on the matter, and to try and be a 'calming voice' to the Syrians," a member of her cabinet explained.

"Of course," Gwen added, "another option, is that _we_, Britain, offer the girls asylum."

A grumble went up amongst the cabinet; clearly there were mixed feelings about this, and Mary knew why. Did a new administration really want to take such a stand this early? Besides, wasn't it more important to keep peace? The girls were safe so long as they stayed in Turkey…weren't they?

"Siding with the Turkish government is the smartest move," someone argued. "We don't want to cause any rifts."

"I say we take a stand!" another argued. "It will make us appear stronger!"

"Or foolish," another grumbled.

More voices were added to the fray, until it was near impossible to understand one from another. "Alright, alright!" Mary groaned, lifting her hands and bringing the room back to order. "I think it best that we hear from Mr. Pemuk when he arrives next week before a final decision is made." A few grumbles were still heard around the table, but everyone more or less nodded their heads in agreement. "Good, that's settled," she sighed with relief. She needed that cup of tea more than ever. "Alright, who do I have to screw to get a cup of Twinings English Breakfast and a dark-chocolate Hobnob?"

A chuckle went up around the table, which was Mary's intention. A little humor always helped to settle tensions. However, her smile quickly died…when around the corner, Matthew came through, holding a tray that included several cups and saucers and a steaming teapot.

"I intercepted Mrs. Hughes," Matthew explained, putting the tray down on the table. "Did I hear someone mention something about tea?"

Mary's face burned bright suddenly, and another chuckle began to rumble around the room. Indeed, the tensions had left everyone else…save for herself.

"What's so funny?" Matthew questioned, looking confused.

"NOTHING!" Mary coughed, and then reached for a cup and saucer. "Milk only, please," she muttered under her breath as he poured; she didn't dare to look into his eyes.

* * *

"Great news!"

Jimmy glanced across the car to the passenger seat where Alfred sat. He looked very…excited. This sort of behavior normally caused Jimmy to worry. "What…?"

"I did it," Alfred grinned. "I got a ticket…to the States!"

"You did what?" Jimmy asked, before muttering a curse as he swerved the car away from running into another in the next lane. "No, no, no, Alfred…please…tell me you are not proceeding with this stupid plan!"

"It's not a stupid plan!" Alfred defended. "It's bloody brilliant!"

Jimmy groaned. He should have tried to talk Alfred out of it the night he first mentioned the idea. Every other mad idea that Alfred had concocted over time had always blown up in his face; one would think the poor idiot would have learned by now?

"Want to know where I'm going?" Alfred grinned.

Jimmy answered with another groan and then added a shake of his head.

"An exotic place called…Wisconsin!"

"Why there?" Jimmy asked, his nose crinkling at the name. Wouldn't someone rather go someplace warm? Like Florida, or southern California…or Hawaii! Why not Hawaii?

Alfred shrugged, not seeming to mind. "It's in the middle of the country; I can start there and work my way to either coast," he laughed with a little waggle of his eyebrows.

"God almighty," Jimmy muttered. "Alfred…this is absolute madness. Don't you see that?"

"Why don't you see the brilliance of it? What do American girls love? British men! Look at the way they throw themselves at Colin Firth and Hugh Grant and…and…you know, that bloke with the weird name who plays Sherlock."

"You are honestly not trying to compare yourself with an actor, are you?"

Alfred only laughed. "Just wait and see, Jimmy. I'll go over there…and be like bloody Prince William…without the weird family."

"And I thought the actor comparison was a stretch," Jimmy muttered.

"No…" Alfred murmured, mentally correcting himself. "Prince William is married…so instead, I'll be like Prince Harry—which is even better, because like me, he's ginger and single…and don't girls like Harry more now, anyway?"

Jimmy looked at Alfred as if he had gone completely mental. No, he had gone mental; absolutely bat-shit bonkers, mental! "I don't know!" he threw a hand up in exasperation. "And no, you're far more likely to be mistaken for some missing 'Weasly' sibling," he groaned. "Alfred, refund the ticket, get your money back—"

"Can't; it's non-refundable."

"Alfred!" Jimmy was almost shouting. They were stopped a traffic light and so he used the moment to turn and confront his friend. "I know I've told you this before—and clearly, I should have saved those words for now, because by far, this is, without a doubt—THE STUPIDEST IDEA YOU HAVE EVER HAD!"

But Alfred only leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest and smiling that idiotic smile of his that was far too confident for the man's own good. "Wait and see my friend…just wait and see."

Jimmy wanted to say something further, but the light changed and the car behind them began to honk. He was tempted to roll down his window and flick the driver off, but instead pulled through the intersection, shaking his head and trying not to lash out further. _Let the fool go and get slapped around by every woman he tries to hit on, _a voice in his head muttered. _He'll be deported back here before the end of the first day._

Still, it gnawed on his nerves to see Alfred just sitting there and looking so…smug. "I'm a man on a mission," Alfred murmured as he gazed out the window and the rain falling from the sky. "I'm like…Moses…preparing to journey to the Promised Land."

"More like Napoleon, marching into Russia in the dead of winter," Jimmy grumbled.

* * *

Isobel sat in a chair, enjoying a cup of Earl Grey that Dr. Clarkson—_Richard_, and been so kind to bring her. She blushed as she recalled how he insisted, after their second day of working together, to call him Richard. She said she only would if he called her Isobel. Throughout that week, they worked very hard, talking with directors, cameramen, script writers, lighting technicians, and of course, the actors, on how to act and perform the various medical tasks a nurse or doctor would do, if they were doing these things in 1917. Yet despite the busyness of the week…there were moments, like this one, where she could sit and relax and enjoy a cup of tea. And she couldn't deny that she was impressed by how Richard had quickly learned what her favorite tea was, and how she took it. Ever since that day he had learned it, he always tried to have a cup ready for her when she arrived. Really…she couldn't recall the last time a man had been so…thoughtful. Certainly not since her late husband.

Richard appeared then; he had just been on the set, showing the actors there how they would hold the instruments in which their characters would use if they were going to amputate an arm.

"Beastly work," he groaned, taking a chair next to hers.

"Have you ever had to perform one?" Isobel asked out of curiosity.

He shook his head. "No, thank God, but it was part of my training. I do more medical examinations now than surgeries. I prefer it, to be honest."

Isobel nodded her head with a smile. She found Dr. Clarkson quite fascinating, and enjoyed hearing his stories. "You know," she said, feeling like a complete idiot for not having shared this with him till now. "I can't believe I never told you this, but my late husband was a doctor too!"

"Really?" Richard said, his eyes widening at her revelation. "What did he practice?"

"He was a pediatrician, actually," she smiled at the memory. "He spent the final few years of his life as a medical professor, back in Manchester."

"Of course!" Richard gasped. "Why didn't I see it before? Dr. Reginald Crawley!"

Isobel was surprised to hear her husband's name spoken by someone other than her immediate family. "You've heard of my husband?"

"I read a paper he wrote for a medical journal on early childhood diseases. Very fascinating work, and very profound! Gracious, I can't believe I didn't make the connection until now…"

"Oh please; no need to beat yourself up over it. You are too kind."

Isobel couldn't deny that Richard's words did bring a warm rush to her heart. Her late-husband had always wondered if anyone cared about those articles he had written, and it was nice to know that at least one man had.

"Do you mind if I ask…?"

"Oh! Oh no, not at all," Isobel reassured. "It was nine years ago; cancer," she murmured sadly. "And while I do miss him, I am comforted to know that he lived a very good and fulfilling life."

Richard smiled back at her, and it was tender smile, one filled with both sympathy and understanding. "My wife passed away six years ago," he explained. "Also from cancer."

"Oh I'm so sorry," Isobel murmured, and without a second's thought, took his hand in hers and gave it a tender squeeze. He smiled back…as well as returned the squeeze.

"You know, I'm just as guilty, actually," he murmured. Isobel looked a little confused, but he quickly explained what he meant. "My wife was a secondary school teacher…whose area of specialty was history."

"No!" Isobel gasped, laughing then at the strange little coincidences the two of them were discovering. "Truly?"

He grinned and nodded his head. "And would you believe it if I told you her favorite era was early 20th century British and European history?"

Isobel saw the teasing twinkle in his eye. "Oh, now you truly are pulling my leg."

He laughed and nodded his head in guilty confession. "Alright, you caught me; although I was telling the truth about her favorite era dealing with British and European history…just during the 19th century."

They shared in another laugh…and only then did Isobel realize…that their hands were still joined.

Richard noticed this too, and quickly released her fingers, blushing and mumbling over and over, "I'm terribly sorry."

She was blushing too…but in truth, she wasn't feeling sorry at all.

She recalled how her son had asked her once if she would ever consider dating again. She had laughed at him, muttering something about _"at my age?"_ before shaking her head as if someone had told her the grandest and most unbelievable joke of all time.

Yet now…that question didn't seem so…impossible, as she had once thought.

Richard was clearing his throat. "So…um…what do you think of our new Prime Minister?" he asked, dramatically changing the subject.

Isobel prayed her blush had calmed down. "I like her, actually; I think she'll do a fine job—although I dislike all these comparisons some people are making to Margaret Thatcher, simply because she's a woman," she rolled her eyes. "Did anyone try to compare Tony Blair to John Major because he was a man? Of course not; pure sexism if you ask me."

He chuckled then, but Isobel knew he wasn't making fun. "Well, she doesn't have an easy job, coming in now with the way things are. I don't envy her the tasks that are ahead."

"I have a feeling she's going to surprise all of us," Isobel murmured with an admiring grin, before taking a sip of her tea. "We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

Mary didn't even lift her head when she heard the knock on her office door. "Come in!"

Footsteps moved across the carpet, and didn't stop until they were right in front of her desk. Mary looked up then and was surprised to see her housekeeper standing before her. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes! What a pleasant surprise!"

The housekeeper smiled; she was holding a tray. "Sorry to disturb you, Prime Minister, but..." she set the tray down and Mary's eyes went wide at the sight. "I understand…you were looking for these?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, you are a God-send!" Mary gasped, reaching forward and eagerly picking up the flat round biscuit, covered in dark-chocolate, and savoring its delicious flavor as she took a very eager bite.

The housekeeper chuckled and refilled Mary's teacup. "Rumor was floating around that our new Prime Minister likes chocolate-covered biscuits," she explained.

"It's not a rumor, it's a fact," Mary moaned in satisfaction as she took another bite. "And I don't like them…I _love_ them."

Mrs. Hughes laughed again. "Well, just another reason why I'm glad you won, ma'am; our last Prime Minister, I was only here for a few months while he was still in office, but he liked his biscuits plain and ordinary. To each their own, of course, but…well, I think I can trust and better relate to someone who, like myself, also adores chocolate."

Mary laughed and offered the last biscuit to the housekeeper, insisting that she take it. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes; you have no idea how something as simple as this has turned my day around."

She smiled and nodded her head. "Well, as much as I wish I could take all your thanks, it's really Mr. Crawley who deserves it."

Mary almost choked on a biscuit crumb. "I…I beg your pardon?"

"Well, apparently he had overheard someone mention in your cabinet meeting today that you had a craving for dark-chocolate biscuits. So he relayed the message to me."

Mary felt her cheeks enflame again. Did that same person also tell Matthew her _exact_ words, when she was hoping for tea and a biscuit?

"Well, I don't want to disturb you and keep you from important work," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile. "I'll come by with a fresh pot later, and if you wish…some more biscuits?"

Mary only nodded her head, still trying to look calm and casual, despite the questions that were raging through her mind at the moment. The housekeeper left then, quietly shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Mary let out a deep groan and then sank her head to her desk, fighting the temptation to bang it against the hard wood surface until there was nothing left.

"Oh, get a grip on yourself!" she hissed in frustration. "You're not some…some…naïve school girl who has her first crush; you're the Prime Minister for God's sake!" She groaned in frustration once more. _Maggie never had this sort of problem._

* * *

"You wished to see me?"

Robert glanced up from his desk and felt his throat suddenly go dry as his beautiful secretary stood in the doorway, smiling at him in that dazzling way that seemed to linger long after she had left the room.

"Oh, um…yes, right…" he coughed, trying to get a hold on his voice. Lord, he was sounding like an adolescent boy going through puberty all over again. "Yes, I um…I wanted to go over details for the office Christmas party."

"Of course," Jane murmured, picking up a notepad and pen, before proceeding into his office…and sitting down on one of the nearby chairs, crossing one elegantly leg over the other. Robert couldn't help but notice, especially as she sat down, that she was wearing a short, black skirt, one that seemed to hug her curves perfectly, as if it had been sewn onto her. She was also wearing a lovely, cream-colored sweater, one that clung to her upper body just as…delicately…as her skirt. "I'm ready, sir…"

He swallowed. God help him. "Right! Um…well, Jane, I know this will be your first Christmas party with us, and I apologize for um…for having to more or less 'jump off the deep end' in trying to organize it, but—"

"Don't worry about me, sir," Jane reassured, her voice almost like a purr. "I'm up for anything."

_Stop it, STOP IT!_ He ordered his brain to stop thinking what it was trying to think…and for the rest of his body to stop trying to take over his brain.

"Right…good, um…yes! So…alright, yes, let's get to it," he was stammering like a fool.

"Yes, please," Jane murmured under her breath, before lifting her eyes and smiling at him in the sort of way that caused men to go weak at the knees. That was exactly how Robert's knees were suddenly feeling…but despite that, he rose to his feet and began pacing…at the far side of his office, feeling that if he at least did something other than sit across from his beautiful secretary, perhaps he wouldn't find himself wondering about what she looked like beneath her clothes.

"Alright, we always try to have the Christmas party at some venue outside the office," he began, purposefully concentrating on a wall opposite of Jane. "Now, that normally tends to be the hardest part—"

"I know someone who has an art gallery in Chelsea, actually," Jane murmured. Robert glanced her way, but saw her concentrating on the notepad. "I could contact him; find out if it's available—when will the party be?"

"Um…" Robert quickly turned his head once more to the wall, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. "Exactly two weeks from this Friday," he bit his lip. This was really asking too much of her; he should have started planning this much, much earlier, and Jane had only been here since mid-November. Perhaps they should simply have the party here at the office? "Look, Jane, perhaps we should—"

"I don't think that will be a problem, sir," Jane reassured, smiling up at him, her ice-blue eyes sparkling. Robert swallowed and felt his whole body go numb. His legs felt like jelly, and his heart was beating rapidly.

"Are you…are you sure?" he asked, trying once more to get a hold of his voice. "It is a lot to ask, I know; and it's entirely my fault. Mrs. Bird, my former secretary, she always managed this on her own, in fact I rarely had a say in the matter, she just planned the whole thing out, even down to the food!"

Jane smiled and that light, tinkling laugh that reminded him of sleigh bells filled the room once more. "Well, I like working with you, sir," she reassured, her gaze capturing his once more. "And don't worry about me…I'm up for any task."

Robert fought the urge to groan. He also fought the urge to believe she was meaning more than what she was saying—but that was proving to be far more difficult. His body, as well as his ego, was once again trying to take over his brain.

He coughed, trying to once again regain a little composure. "Alright, best of luck to you there," he all but grumbled, before turning his focus, again, to the wall opposite of where she sat. "So um…we enjoyed Ivy's Catering at my daughter's wedding, so I would recommend asking her to handle all the food—I'll get you her card later."

Jane didn't respond, she was busy scribbling notes down. Robert felt the first smile of relaxation wash over him.

"Um…also, find out if her company will handle wine and other spirits, otherwise there's a supplier Mrs. Bird has used in the past, and I'm sure I have a card on them somewhere, so if you need it, I'll make sure you get it in time."

"Very good, sir," Jane murmured while writing. "And um…guests?"

"Guests? OH! Oh yes, um…well, obviously the office—but you mean can they bring someone outside the office to the party?"

She nodded her head…and Robert broke his promise to avoid looking at her…and found himself staring at her glistening pink lip, which she was worrying between her teeth. "Yes, that sort of thing…like…wives and kids and stuff…"

It sounded as if she were mumbling the words. But with the way his body had been behaving ever since she entered his office, he didn't trust his senses at the moment. "Well…I don't think the part is a place for children, and we've never had children attend before…but wives and husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends of course," he explained. And then a sudden image dawned on him. "Oh God, don't tell me you have some big brute of a boyfriend—some rugby player who will put the lot of us to shame?"

He wasn't sure why he had made the joke, it was a stupid joke really. But a part of him…a part of him that he was trying to suppress, but apparently insisted on being heard and speaking out…wanted desperately to know if the lovely secretary had a significant other. _No, no, this is a good thing, Robert found himself saying. Perhaps if she has a partner, I can stop worrying about…well, I can just stop worrying!_

Jane's sleigh bell laugh filled the air again. "No, no, I'll be the wallflower at the party," she sighed, before putting on a little pout that suddenly made his trousers feel rather tight. "I'll just be standing off to the side…hoping someone will ask me for a dance…" she murmured, her eyes sliding to his and holding his gaze. "And maybe…if I'm lucky…my partner and I will find some mistletoe…"

The phone, thank God, decided to ring at that moment. "I should get that!" Robert all but squeaked, rushing across the office and grabbing the phone. "Thank you, Jane; that will be all!"

She was still smiling as she rose from her chair. "Of course sir," she murmured, brushing past him, just slightly as she walked out of the office. Robert disobeyed his rule again, and found himself staring at her as she left, particularly on her swaying hips.

"Hello? HELLO? ROBERT, ARE YOU THERE?"

He woke from his stupor. "I'm sorry—terribly sorry…yes, yes, I can hear you, Mama."

* * *

_Today is the day,_ he thought to himself. _Today I am going to have William sit down and tell me what's on his mind. _

He wasn't sure why he was nervous. He had had serious discussions with the lad before. And yet, he couldn't imagine anything more serious than this; trying to talk and learn about a man's depression when dealing with death. It had been over twenty-years since his own mother's passing, and Charles had never married, and really, his life, his home, his family…was _The Edwardian_. Was he the right man for this sort of thing, then? _Perhaps I should have telephoned Mr. Mason—tell him my worries and have him speak to William?_ However, the last thing he wanted to do was burden the poor man with questions about the late Mrs. Mason, who no doubt Mr. Mason was also mourning as the Christmas holiday drew closer and closer. And Mr. Mason lived just outside of York, whereas Charles…was here. No…if anyone was to talk to William, it should be him. In some ways, he felt like a surrogate father to the lad. He just prayed he wouldn't muck things up.

A knock on his office door brought Charles out of his thoughts. "Come in?"

The very person he had been thinking about poked his head in. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Carson?"

"Ah yes! William, please come in…"

William gave a weak smile, and entered the office, straightening his well-tailored suit jacket that bore the hotel's name and insignia on its gold buttons. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, no, nothing at all," Charles quickly reassured, although he knew that wasn't entirely true. Yes, something was wrong, but he didn't know what. And he deeply hoped that William would tell him. "Um…won't you have a seat?" Charles asked, indicating one of the chairs that sat opposite his desk. He nervously tapped his fingers together as William sat down, shifting his weight slightly until he was comfortable, his hands gripping the armrests just slightly…and waiting for whatever his boss had to say.

Charles mind went blank.

_Oh God, how do men do this? How do fathers do this? What would his father say if he were here right now?_

"So um…how…how are you getting on, William?"

The lad gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I'm well, thank you, Mr. Carson."

It wasn't the most reassuring of answers. Someone who was truly "well" wouldn't look so downcast…or pale…or…miserable.

"Um…anything…interesting…happening?" Charles was wincing at his own stupid questions. Lord, this was bad. And judging from the odd looks William was giving him, he knew it to be true.

"Not…really…" William replied.

_Should I tell him about Doctor Who? We certainly seem to have formed some kind of bond with that; would that be wise? Start with something simple, something frivolous, before asking the heavy questions?_

"I just started watching Series Three," he explained. "I like Martha…much better than I expected, actually…although it's hard to imagine anyone holding a candle to Rose."

William gave a small smile, but it was the sort of smile you gave a person to be polite, even if you thought the conversation was rubbish. _This isn't working!_ "Right…well…um…" he was trying to think of what to say, how best to approach the subject. Oh Lord, why hadn't he written his questions down ahead of time?

"Was that why you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Carson?"

"What? Oh! Oh, um…well, no, not exactly…"

An awkward silence passed between them again. William sat looking at the floor, while Charles stared at his tapping fingers. Movies always made this seem so much easier.

"Well…" William spoke, ending the silence. "I should be getting back to my duties."

"Oh…yes, of course…" Charles murmured, rising from his chair as William rose, giving the lad a nod before he turned to leave the office. _No, no, no, this is your chance, possibly your ONLY chance, don't let this opportunity pass!_

"William, wait!"

The footman paused and turned back to look at Charles, his brow furrowed with question. "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"I um…I'm not very good at this sort of thing…at least not here," he confessed with a small smile.

William looked confused. "I…I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand—"

"Let's go for a walk," Charles stated, looking very determined. "I know it's cold outside, but…a little fresh air may do us good, hmm?"

William still looked confused, but mutely nodded his head. "If you say so, Mr. Carson."

Charles smiled, despite the lad's confusion and his own misgivings on how he would approach the delicate subjects behind William's depression, and held the door open for him while William stepped outside. They both gathered their coats from the employee cloak room, and Charles told the front desk that he would only be gone for twenty-minutes. Lord, please let that be enough time…

Once they were outside, the cold air whipped around them, but thankfully it wasn't an arctic blast. Tucking his scarf inside his jacket, Charles led the walk, to where? He wasn't sure, but he led the walk nonetheless, and William obediently followed behind him, his head tucked down against his chest, his hands stuffed inside his coat pockets.

They walked along the street, passing various shoppers and sightseers, Charles tipping his hat every so often and wishing the passers-by, "Merry Christmas," while William simply continued to follow in silence. They hadn't gone very far, when Charles spotted a bench overlooking the river, with Saint Paul's Cathedral in the distance. _Right…good a place as any._ "Let's stop here for a moment," he murmured, sitting down and waiting for William to do the same. The lad mimicked him, taking a seat, his hands still stuffed inside his pockets and his chin still lowered to his chest.

_God give me strength_, Charles silently prayed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath…and finally began. "William…forgive me, but…I don't really know how to say this, so I apologize for sounding…well, I apologize right now if I say the wrong thing."

William didn't say anything; he simply continued to gaze out onto the rolling gray waters of the Thames.

Charles swallowed and summoned all the courage he had. "I've noticed how…sad you've been looking. And…and not just recently, but…for a while now," he checked for the lad's reaction, but still, there wasn't any. "You've been very withdrawn," Charles continued. "I mean, you're still a good worker, I haven't had any complaints from management or guests, but…something's changed…"

William shifted slightly, but still remained focused on the river.

"I…I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling…" he carefully continued. "I…I know that this will be your first Christmas without…without your mother…" he watched William carefully, but the lad didn't flinch at the mention of the woman. "I just…I want to help. And I know that's one of those phrases that's thrown about by people because it seems like the right thing to say, but for me, lad, it is true…" William turned then and his eyes lifted slightly to meet Charles'. He felt some hope spring within him. "So please…just…say whatever is on your mind. I won't interrupt. I won't say anything at all if you don't wish me to. But…please…let me help in whatever way I can."

William shifted again, lifting his head and looking at the concierge next to him. Charles was actually holding his breath.

"You really want to know?"

_YES!_ But he told the voice inside to sound calmer. "If I can help in anyway, then yes, I really do."

"I don't know if you can help me, Mr. Carson—"

"But I can listen. And I know that can be helpful, sometimes, to just…get it off one's chest."

Another long silence passed then, and the city continued moving and speaking around them. But Charles sat and waited, never once taking his gaze from William.

Finally, the lad spoke. "Alright…" he sighed.

Charles held his breath. _Alright, whatever he says, don't mock him and don't say the wrong thing! Just listen…and wait until he asks for you to speak further…_

"The truth is…" William whispered, looking down at the ground, before lifting his eyes again. "The truth is…I'm in love."

Charles stared at William. He blinked a few times, not fully processing what the lad had said, at least not right away…

_"The truth is…I'm in love."_

Love. William was…in love? _That_ was the cause of his depression?

"Really?"

William frowned. "What's so surprising about that?"

_Idiot!_ Charles quickly shook his head. "Nothing, nothing, I…" he stopped himself from saying anything stupider. "So…you're in love, then?"

William nodded his head. "Yes…for quite some time now," he murmured. "I know that…that this is my first Christmas without my mum, and a part of me thinks that I should be sad about that, but…I can't help it," he groaned, lowering his head and staring at the ground again.

Charles didn't realize until he leaned back against the bench that his body had been so tense. Now a wave of relief was washing over him. "Thank God…" he murmured more to himself than to William, but William did overhear.

"What?"

Charles smiled, and there was a bit of a chuckle to his voice as well. "I'm just glad it was nothing...horrible, you know?"

William frowned. "Nothing more horrible than the agonizing, nerve-wracking, gut-wrenching feeling of being absolutely, totally, and hopelessly in love?"

Charles' smile faded then. He turned his face away and now it was he who was gazing out at the Thames' gray waters. "Well…when you put it like that…"

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. 4 Weeks to Christmas (part II)

_Ok, I lied, I updated this story *again* before I updated my other one (which I still really need to do, argh! Darn the muse sometimes) :oP ANYWAY, thank you again for reading and commenting! Not much to be said about this chapter, other than I needed a "kindly Irishwoman to greet Sybil when she arrived in Dublin, and...well, you might find her name and a relation of hers interesting :oP Hope you enjoy and thanks again for reading!_

* * *

_Chapter Five_

**4 Weeks to Christmas (part II)**

The plane landed in Dublin at half-past two. Sybil gave a sheepish smile as she was allowed to exit the aircraft before anyone else, due to the fact that she needed crutches to get about. As soon as she was off the plane, she hobbled to the baggage claim carousel, where her chauffeur awaited.

The woman was petite and round, with brown hair and a cheery smile. However, that smile disappeared and her eyes went wide, as she spotted Sybil coming down the airport escalator, on crutches.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" the woman exclaimed.

Sybil blushed and looked a little embarrassed as she hobbled towards her. "Hello, Mrs. Leech."

"Good Lord, you weren't joking!" she gasped, quickly coming to Sybil's side. "What happened?"

Sybil put on a smile for the kindly Irishwoman. "Just…a little accident, while removing the garbage from my house." It wasn't a complete lie.

Mrs. Leech looked very sympathetic. "Oh you poor girl! Does it hurt?"

"It looks worse than it is, actually," Sybil confessed. "Don't be fooled by the cast; it's not the whole foot, just a few toes. And my ankle, while swollen like a grapefruit right now, should go down over the next few weeks. The doctor thinks I'll be able to remove it in time for Christmas, so long as I don't do anything too strenuous."

Mrs. Leech clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I'm amazed you still decided to come, despite all this!"

"No, I needed to get away," Sybil sighed. "And it will be good, to be…away, from all the madness that goes on around the holidays."

Mrs. Leech smiled, and then helped Sybil with her suitcase when it came around the carousel. Sybil waited by the curb while the woman brought her car around, and then helped her climb in. Mrs. Leech lived in Dublin, like a majority of her family, but she kept a cottage in the country, something small and rather rustic. She lived in the cottage during the summer months, but rented it out during the "off season"; Sybil had learned about it through a website and thought the place not only to be beautiful, but perfect as a getaway from the busyness of the world. This was only her third year in staying at the cottage. Before coming to Ireland, she would go to Wales for her "writer's retreat", but she found that she wanted to get even further away from life back in London.

"I have the pantry stocked, as you asked," Mrs. Leech explained while driving. "Although you may need to make a grocery trip or two before you leave—when did you say you were staying till?"

"The 22nd," Sybil replied, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. It had already snowed here; not a thick blanket, one could still see the grass poking through. It was a beautiful combination of green and white. For the scenery alone, Sybil could see herself being quite happy to live here. _Maybe I should go home for Christmas, and then come right back? I'm sure I have enough money in my account to rent the cottage for the rest of the winter. That could give me time to find something more permanent._ She shook her head. Good Lord, what was she thinking? Just…dropping everything back in London like that? Not that Ireland was a world away, of course, but still. _This is all Larry's doing; just because he turned out to be a wanker doesn't mean you have to change your life completely!_

"Right, well, after you emailed me about your injury…" Mrs. Leech said, glancing down at Sybil's cast. "And after you told me you were coming alone—" Sybil winced a little at this. "—I took it upon myself to make sure you have a driver to help you around."

Sybil's brow furrowed at this. "What?"

Mrs. Leech simply nodded her head, as if this wasn't unusual at all. "Under normal circumstances, I would be happy to stay in the village and help you myself, but my daughter, Jess," she grinned, "the one who lives in Chicago? Well, she's about to have a baby!"

Sybil's eyes widened at this. She wanted to be happy for the woman, but a part of her mind was still reeling at the announcement that there would be someone coming by to more or less "checkup" on her.

"That's lovely," Sybil murmured, trying to sound surprised about the baby announcement, and not the fact that some stranger would be driving her around, if she needed a ride to anywhere.

Mrs. Leech sighed happily. "My first grandbaby!"

"So naturally, of course, you want to be there…"

"Aye," Mrs. Leech grinned. "Due just days before Christmas! I'll be leaving for Chicago tomorrow evening, but my nephew will be here before then; I'll make sure you're introduced before I leave."

"Your nephew?"

Mrs. Leech nodded her head. "My sister's boy, Tommy," she explained, as if the name itself was enough. Images of a gangly youth, age 18 or 19, dragging his feet to the country, grumbling the entire time about having to spend the days leading up to Christmas in the middle of nowhere, driving some English bird around like a chauffeur out of _"Upstairs/Downstairs",_ filled her mind. Perhaps Tommy needed to make some money before going back to uni for the next semester?

"Anyway, he'll be staying in the village, like I said. There's an inn over the pub; he doesn't mind, honestly, he's done it before."

Hmmm, perhaps Tommy wouldn't be the typical angst-ridden teenager forced against his will to help his auntie? Perhaps he was a fine, upstanding young man after all? Or perhaps it was the allure of being away from his parents and staying in a place that just so happened to be above a pub? Yes, she had a feeling _that_ was closer to the truth.

Mrs. Leech continued prattling in her lovely, Irish-lilt as they drove the rest of the way to the cottage. Sybil simply settled back in her seat and continued to admire the scenery, every so often murmuring a response. Her eyes focused on a single tree in a field, still clinging to the last of its leaves before a rough winter wind rose up and carried them away, living the solitary tree bare. She could relate to that tree. _Alone again,_ she sighed.

* * *

"DAISY!" Beryl Patmore raced across the kitchen to rescue a pot that was preparing to boil over onto the stove. The daft girl had been daydreaming again, from what she could tell. Beryl removed the pot and quickly placed it atop the counter, before carefully lifting the lid to inspect its contents. The little sous-chef jumped out the way and bit her lip, looking horrified at what had nearly happened.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore, truly I am, I just—"

"Oh never mind that!" Beryl groaned, looking at the rest of the pots that were simmering on the stove. "You had the heat far too high!" she admonished with a shake of her head. "Just…go over the ovens and inspect the soufflé; but don't touch it!" She could just see the dish imploding on itself if Daisy tried to touch it.

The girl looked in on the soufflé, and murmured something about how it seemed to be alright. "I've never made a soufflé before," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Beryl lifted a brow at this. "There's an art to it," she explained. "And it requires a great deal of patience. You have to wait until the moment is _just right_, before you take it out of the oven…but you also need steady hands, as well."

Daisy nodded her head. "Is it like working with puff pastry?"

Beryl found this interesting. "There are some similarities," she replied. "Have you done a lot with puff pastry?"

Daisy nodded her head. "The pie shop where I worked before; I was in charge of making all the crusts…and filling all the pastry puffs," she explained, a small smile of pride lifting at the corners of her mouth.

Beryl's interest continued to grow. "Do you miss it?"

Daisy looked a little confused. "Beg your pardon?"

"The pie shop," Beryl explained. "Do you miss working there?"

Daisy's face suddenly paled, and her eyes became wide like an owl's. "Oh…oh no, no, I like my job here, Mrs. Patmore! Very much! I didn't mean—"

"Calm yourself!" Beryl shushed. "You need to stop thinking that whenever I ask you a question…or raise my voice, that I want to have you sacked!"

Daisy bit her lip and nodded her head…although she didn't look so convinced.

Beryl sighed and dug her hand into her apron pocket. She still had the pamphlet she had picked up last week and had been reading in the café where she and Elsie frequently met, about that pastry school in Paris she had told Mr. Carson about. "Daisy…what you do enjoy the most about cooking?"

The girl looked a little surprised by Beryl's question. "Um…well, I don't know really…"

Beryl shook her head. "No, no, you have to have a reason; why bother going into this profession if you don't have a reason? Do you love it? Cooking?"

Daisy nibbled her lip again, but this time nodded her head. "Good, otherwise I _would_ sack you," Beryl threatened. She ignored Daisy's terrified expression then, and continued. "But if you were given the option to cook and prepare anything…_anything you wanted_…what would it be?"

Daisy glanced at the soufflé in the oven…and then over at the simmering pots still on the stove. She then looked nearby at several desserts that she had helped prepare earlier that day. "Cakes…" she whispered.

Beryl had barely heard her, her voice was so soft and quiet. But she understood the word that Daisy's lips had formed. "Cakes?" she repeated, folding her arms across her head. "Just cakes?"

Daisy paled once more. "N-n-not _just_ cakes," she stammered. "I mean…pie is nice too; I like making pie—meat pies, fruit pies, cheese pies, fish pies—"

"What about biscuits? And bread?"

Daisy nodded her head to both suggestions. A smile began to pull at the corners of her mouth once more. "I love decorating all the Christmas biscuits we make for the children that stay here; and the wedding cakes last week! I really loved making and decorating those."

Beryl nodded her head…and began to smile. "I thought so," she murmured. "Well, Daisy…I've been thinking…" she pulled out the pamphlet and held it out to her sous-chef. "I think you have a real talent for pastry cooking; I was impressed by the work you did last week for those weddings. And I heard nothing but compliments for how the cakes turned out…so…I think you should enroll at this school in Paris, and take some courses on perfecting your skills and becoming a true Pastry Chef."

Daisy stared down at the pamphlet, her eyes growing wider and wider as she read the printed words on the cover. She lifted her head then, suddenly looking panicked. "Is this because I nearly burned the chicken the other night—"

"DAISY!" Beryl shushed again. "This is NOT a punishment! And I'm not trying to get you sacked, either!" she took the pamphlet from the girl's fingers and opened it, showing Daisy the school's information. "This is an opportunity…to perfect your skills and become better at doing what you love!"

Daisy took the pamphlet and began reading the information a little more closely. "How long will it be?"

"You can start with one course…which will be about six weeks. After that, you can decide if it's something you wish to continue and take more courses."

"When does it start?"

"I'm glad you asked that," Beryl grinned. "The course begins just after New Year, but all new students need to take an orientation course the week between Christmas and New Year's…which would mean you would need to be there on Boxing Day."

Daisy nibbled her lip a little. "But…won't you need help for New Year's?"

"I'll be fine," Beryl assured. "Besides, I really think this would be good for you, and I care more about you getting a good start on your future than running around a busy kitchen at _The Edwardian_ on New Year's Eve."

She looked down at the pamphlet again. "I…I don't know," she turned the pamphlet over and her eyes widened at the tuition cost. "Mrs. Patmore, I can't afford this!"

"I already have that figured out," Beryl reassured. "I have some money set aside; money that I've been saving for something special. Problem is I don't know what to do with it. I'm not really that interested in taking a long holiday anywhere exotic…so it just sits there. I would rather give it to you, to help you with this new venture, than keep it for myself and spend it on something so…frivolous."

Daisy stared at the older chef for the longest time, completely dumbstruck by the offer. The poor girl looked like she was going to burst into tears! "Daisy…at least consider it," Beryl murmured. "But don't wait too long to make your decision; they need a deposit by the 15th."

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore…" Daisy whispered, clutching the pamphlet to her chest and silently nodding her head. She was clearly in some kind of shock, and Beryl decided not to push the subject any further. But hopefully, God willing, the girl would see reason and take this offer. She truly had the makings of being a great pastry chef if she set her mind to it! And knowing that she, Beryl Patmore, had a part to play in that, would be the greatest Christmas present that she could ever receive this year.

* * *

It was five o'clock: time for tea and biscuits! Mary set her papers aside and eagerly turned her head towards the office door. Ever since Mrs. Hughes had brought her the dark-chocolate biscuits earlier that week, Mary had planned a special "self-teatime" at five o'clock every day; just a time to get away from the stresses of being the Prime Minister, and enjoy a relaxing cuppa. Truly, it was moments like this that helped make the job tolerable.

Like clockwork, a knock on office door sounded, and Mary grinned, happily calling out, "Come in, Mrs. Hughes!" However this time…it wasn't the housekeeper who entered.

"Matthew!"

He smiled as he opened the door, holding the tea tray in one hand, and a small file of papers in the other. "I needed to ask you something, so I told Mrs. Hughes I would bring your tray in for her," he explained, gently shutting the door behind him with his foot.

Mary hands were folded together, and they were squeezing each other rather tightly. She prayed that her face was behaving. "Oh…that's very nice of you," she murmured, putting on a smile and trying to look calm and in control…despite the fact that her heart was thumping madly inside her chest.

He placed the tray down her desk, but before Mary could reach for the tea pot, began to pour first. "Milk only," he murmured with a smile, remembering how she took it.

_So much for that hope that my face would behave,_ she thought to herself, as her cheeks flooded with color at the memory of that day when Matthew first brought her tea. "And um…what exactly, did you want to ask?"

He handed her the cup and she gratefully took it, careful not to touch his fingers for fear that her face would light up like a Christmas tree, and quickly began to sip the delicious brew as a way to both relax and distract herself. "I know this may not be the 'done thing', but I would very much like to be a part of your meeting next week with Mr. Pemuk, if you don't mind."

Mary frowned slightly. Did Matthew think she needed him to "protect her virtue" because of Mr. Pemuk's reputation in the tabloids?

"Not the whole meeting, of course," he explained. "But just enough to prepare for the press conference on Thursday morning."

She couldn't fault him that; in fact, it made a great deal of sense to have him present. "Alright; we'll schedule that meeting for after the cabinet meets and discusses the options Mr. Pemuk offers."

Matthew nodded his head and gave her a warm smile. _Just like he used to do when we were younger, _she recalled, thinking back to the days when they were children, playing on the lush green grasses of Downton with her sisters and all their other cousins. Why hadn't they kept contact after he left for university? It wasn't as if they had a falling out or anything.

"Oh!" Matthew handed her the file he was holding. "This just came for you from the Treasury," he explained. Mary smiled and thanked him with a nod of her head. "Oh, and there's this too," he handed her a piece of paper, and Mary looked at the note that was in fact a printed email. "Gwen was about to knock on your door and pass it on to you, but since I was going in, she handed it to me. I didn't read it, I promise," he reassured, stuffing his now free hands into his pockets.

Mary skimmed down the email…and her eyes suddenly went wide as she read its contents. "It's from Mama…" she whispered. "And it's about Sybil!"

"Sybil?" Matthew murmured. "Is she alright?"

Mary didn't answer; she dropped the paper and picked up the phone on her desk, before quickly slamming it back on the receiver. Getting an outside line from within the bowels of Number 10 Downing was too much of a hassle. But she desperately needed to talk to her sister. She looked up at Matthew then, and feeling somewhat sheepish for having to ask, "You don't happen to have a mobile on you by any chance?"

Matthew reached into his pocket and handed her his phone, no questions asked. Mary thanked him, and paused just briefly as she noticed the image of…a child…on the phone's screen. She shook her head, and began to dial the numbers, tapping her fingers against the desk impatiently as it rung. She looked up at Matthew then…and noticed that he had moved across the room, with his back turned to her, and was flipping through some book on one of the shelves.

"Hello?"

"Sybil!" Mary gasped, grateful to hear her baby sister's voice.

"Mary?" Sybil murmured in confusion. There was a pause, before she continued. "Where…where are you? Whose number is this?"

"Never mind all that, I just found out from Mama that Larry sent you to the hospital?"

A groan was heard on the other end. "We…we got into a fight," she began.

"Over what?"

"I came home from Edith's wedding…and discovered that both he and Rose have been having an affair."

Mary's frown deepened even more. "Rose? As in, _our cousin_, Rose?"

"Yes," Sybil sighed.

Mary didn't know what to say. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she did know several excellent curse words to describe her feelings about this situation, but that didn't matter, what mattered was Sybil's health. "Did he hit you? What does Mama mean that he 'sent you to the hospital'?"

"He didn't hit me, Mary; he was…trying to protect himself from me, actually."

Mary tried to process this. "What…what do you mean, 'trying to protect himself'?"

"I threw cake into his face, in an attempt to blind him and suffocate him, then I kicked him in the groin once, tried to kick him a second time, but he caught my foot, causing me to fall, and somewhere in the process I broke a few toes and sprained my ankle, but we're even I suppose, because with my other foot, I managed to break his nose, his jaw, and cut his lip to the point where he'll need at least twelve stitches."

Mary simply blinked in stunned silence.

"Mary, are you still there?"

Perhaps she should recruit her sister to be one of her body guards? "Where are you now?"

"Mama didn't tell you?"

"I stopped reading the email after I saw the part about Larry sending you to the hospital," Mary grumbled, feeling both frustrated with what sounded like "casual coolness" coming from Sybil, as well as sheer, violent anger, against her sister's now ex-boyfriend.

Sybil sighed. "I'm in Ireland."

"IRELAND!" Mary gasped. She knew that for the past few years, Sybil always tried to take a "writer's retreat", just before Christmas. But she couldn't believe after everything that had happened Sybil would still go! "You went to Ireland with a broken foot?"

"Broken toes and a sprained ankle—"

"I don't care!" Mary growled. "How are you getting around? Who will take care of you? How—"

"_I_ will take care of myself!" Sybil answered, sounding very indignant to what was meant to be concern, but clearly had come out wrong. "I can manage just fine; I have some crutches to help me get around, but I'll be spending most of my time sitting at my typewriter—"

"Crutches are all very good, darling, but how will you drive yourself around—"

"Mrs. Leech, the woman who I rent the cottage from, has made all the arrangements," Sybil reassured. "Her nephew will be coming and will drive me around if I need anything, although I doubt it, beyond one or two trips to the shops. I'm not here to site-see, I'm here to write! I'll be just fine staying inside, drinking tea, and clacking away at my typewriter from dawn till dusk. I'm _fine_, Mary; you don't need to send the whole of the Royal Air Force to come and look after me," she grumbled.

Despite her worries, Mary couldn't help but grin a little at her sister's stubbornness. Sybil liked to do things her way and always had. In fact it was Sybil who had inspired her to get into politics in the first place. Normally it was the little sister who looked up to the big sister, but in Mary's case, it was the other way around.

"Alright," Mary sighed. "This is one of the things they don't tell you when you become Prime Minister; you're always the last to learn when something happens in your family."

She heard Sybil giggle, and it brought a smile to her face. "You will call someone if you do need anything, though, won't you?" she bit her lip. She didn't want Sybil to let her pride rule her brain.

Sybil made a somewhat dramatic sigh, and muttered a weary, "Yes, Prime Minister," before giggling softly, once again causing Mary to sigh with relief.

"Good," she murmured. "Oh, and Sybil? You know…as Prime Minister, I could have him murdered."

There was a pause on the other end of the line…before her sister burst out laughing. "Thank you, Mary," she managed to say, after finally getting hold of herself. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do, darling; professional trained killers are only a phone call away."

Sybil managed to murmur her goodbye through her giggles, and Mary smiled softly as she pulled the mobile away from her ear, and ended the call. She looked up then at Matthew, who was still standing at the far end of the room, his back to her and his face still buried in whatever book he had pulled off the shelf. "Thank you," she said at last, glancing one last time at the image of the smiling little boy on the mobile's screen, before holding the phone out for him to take.

Matthew lifted his head then, and smiled back, moving towards the desk to take the mobile back. However, just before he did, Mary hesitated slightly, murmuring, "I…trust I can depend upon your discretion? It's just that, you never know with tabloids what they'll try to spin—"

Matthew looked confused. "What? The Prime Minister was simply having a conversation with her sister; nothing really 'news-worthy' there, wouldn't you agree?"

She saw an understanding twinkle in his eye, and it not only caused her to blush again, but also to make her smile. "Indeed, Mr. Crawley…I would."

He nodded his head. "Good. Well…perhaps before the week is over, we can sit down and go over details for the press conference with Mr. Pemuk?"

Mary nodded her head. "Yes; I'll have Gwen get in touch with you on when we can meet."

Matthew smiled and finally retrieved his mobile. "Very good, Prime Minister." With that, he turned to leave, giving her one last smile before he parted.

Mary slid back into her chair, cradling her cup in her hands, her eyes still lingering for a long while on the office door which he had exited. Yes, she was feeling a lovely warmth wash all over her; she only wished that it could be simply explained away by the tea she was holding.

* * *

Anna nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to look as if she were concentrating on whatever had popped up on her computer screen…and not on the man sitting opposite of her at the other end of the office.

"Goodnight, Anna!" spoke one of her colleagues. Anna smiled and responded back, before returning her focus once again to her screen…while glancing out of the corner of her eye at Mr. Bates.

_John_.

About fifteen minutes ago, she had excused herself and gone into the loo, where she quickly tried to reapply her make-up, including several "earth-tone" shades of eye shadow, which the salesgirl had sworn would _"really bring out the color of your eyes!",_ as well as a peach-colored lip balm—not too obvious, but at the same, just the right amount of color that would help him…perhaps…_notice_ her.

"Goodnight, Anna!" another colleague bid, and Anna continued smiling and pretending that she was so intensely focused on whatever it was she was doing…and not on the fact that now, both she and Mr. Bates, were all that was left.

_Now is the time to act…_

Those words had lingered with Anna ever since her boss had uttered them to her. How much time had she wasted, sitting here, gazing across the office from her cubicle, making various excuses to get up and refill her mug…and never once saying anything to him, beyond the usual pleasantries?

_Now is the time to act…_

Robert told her that Mr. Bates would say "yes", if she took that leap of faith. Well, he told her that Mr. Bates would probably say "yes", that he was _fairly_ certain by some miracle, that John Bates _liked_ her…

_I can do this,_ she thought to herself. _I can go up to his desk…I can invite him to join me for a drink at the pub just around the corner. Start simple; nothing more than that. And…and maybe that can be "our" thing? He and I just…do that, after the end of the work day? "Anna Smith and John Bates go to the pub". Yes…we go and we talk about our interests, get to know each other a little better…share a few laughs…and…and then…hopefully…by then I'll have mustered up the courage to ask him to join me for something beyond a trip to the pub, such as…dinner…or a movie…or…or maybe even coming back to my flat—_

"Burning the midnight oil again?"

Anna actually let out a squeak by the sudden question. She turned her head and stared up at the very man whom she had been thinking about—who she had always been thinking about, ever since she met him on her first day of work nearly seven years ago.

"I…I…" _get a hold of yourself!_ "I um…well, I wanted to get this finished," she tried to explain, glancing quickly at her computer screen. She had some random report opened from her files; she had no idea what it said, it was simply meant to sit there and look as if she had been working on it for the last hour or so. Lord, she prayed he didn't ask for details.

"Ever the perfectionist," Mr. Bates chuckled, causing Anna's face to grow hot and her insides to melt. "That's what I like about you, Anna."

If she hadn't been gripping the desk, she would no doubt have melted to a puddle, right then and there.

"Do you want me to leave the light on, then?" he asked, indicating the large ceiling lights overhead.

"Oh…oh um…no, that won't be necessary…"

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be lost, fiddling around in the dark, should your desk lamp burn out," he chuckled.

She loved the sound of his laugh. She loved the sound of everything about him. Oh, she just loved him! And she loved how thoughtful he was being in thinking of _her_ wellbeing.

But right now, she would welcome the shadows to help cover the blush of her cheeks. "I'll be fine, thank you…" she murmured, looking down at her lap and nibbling her bottom lip bashfully.

"Well…I'll see you tomorrow then," he murmured back, giving her another tender smile, the very smile that caused her to fall in love with him in the first place. He turned then, putting the strap of his shoulder bag over one of his broad shoulders, and began to walk away.

_Don't just sit there! Do something! Invite him to join you for a drink! Now is the time to act! It's Christmas, what better time to act than now? DO IT NOW BEFORE HE LEAVES!_

"Mr. Bates!"

He paused and turned back to face her, looking a little confused. "Is something wrong?"

Oh gosh; now what? "I…I um…" she looked at her computer screen, as if it would somehow give her courage. "I…I'm nearly finished with this…just a few more minutes, really."

"So would you like me to leave the lights on, then?"

_No, no, no! BE SPECIFIC! TELL HIM!_

"No, that's…that's not what I meant," she mumbled, feeling like such a fool. _You can do this, YOU can do this! _ "Actually, what…what I was trying to say is that…" she took a deep breath. _Here I go! I'm going to do it! _ "Since I'm nearly finished, I was wondering if you would like to join—"

A loud, electronic shrill suddenly burst through the air. It startled Anna, and she actually jumped at the sound. She recognized it immediately as the default sound on a Nokia…and she watched as her Mr. Bates let out a small curse under his breath, before putting down his shoulder bag to reach for his mobile. "Sorry," he muttered, before finally lifting the phone to his ear, not even bothering to give the screen a second glance. Whoever was calling him, he simply knew.

"Yes, I'm here…" he answered. "Yes…yes…I…yes…no, I understand…" he paused and glanced at her. Anna sat frozen, watching the strange conversation take place. She felt like an intruder, and the thought caused her face to grow hot with shame, and she turned back to her computer screen, staring at the report she had opened, trying to look as if she were focused on whatever it was.

Perhaps this was a good thing? Once he ended his call, she could tell him she was officially done, and _then_ invite him to join her for a drink at the pub.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You need me to come straight away?"

Anna looked up at him and felt her heart sink at his words. He looked…miserable, actually. Utterly dejected by whatever the other person was saying. He also looked extremely frustrated, like he was ready to punch something.

"Alright…I'll come over," he sighed. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He was going somewhere. He was going there right away, which meant, of course, he would not be able to join her as she had hoped, as she had been trying to muster up the courage to ask.

…She had waited too long.

He hung up then, and stuffed the mobile back into his coat pocket, before once again hoisting the shoulder bag back on. "I'm sorry, Anna," he sighed, which in truth sounded more like a groan. "You were saying?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered. "Nothing important." She forced a smile then, and returned her gaze back to her screen. "Have a good night, John. And don't worry about the lights; I'll be fine."

He looked down at her, out of pity she supposed, before murmuring his own goodnight, and finally turning to leave. The lights flickered off…and the office door shut, echoing in his wake.

She sat there in the dark, her desk lamp and computer screen as the only lights that illuminated her tiny corner of the office…and in essence, her very world, or so it seemed.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. 4 Weeks to Christmas (part III)

_Here's the next installment; couldn't help myself, especially after some of the recent CS news, so here are some more developments...including a fateful meeting between two characters I know some of you have been eagerly awaiting to see! Hope you enjoy! THANKS FOR READING AND PLEASE CONTINUE TO SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS! A special dedication to S/T shippers, cause our hearts have gone through the a wringer this season. Hope this satisfies at least a little bit!_

* * *

_Chapter Six_

**4 Weeks to Christmas (part III)**

Sybil cursed as she split tea on the cottage floor. It was difficult to hobble on crutches while carrying a full mug of hot liquid at the same time. She set the mug down on the table and then went to get a paper towel to dry up the mess, which presented another next-to-impossible feat for someone in cast; trying to bend over and clean up something on the floor…and then trying to get up once again. And of course…now was when someone knocked on the door.

"Blast it," Sybil groaned, using a nearby chair to help her stand, before reaching for her crutches and hobbling to the door. The knocking continued. "I'm coming!" she shouted, trying to keep her frustrations from showing. No doubt it was Mrs. Leech, coming to introduce her to her nephew, her supposed "errand boy", for while she remained and Mrs. Leech was in America. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and then opened the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Leech," Sybil greeted.

"Ah! Good morning my dear! I—oh goodness, did I wake you?"

Sybil looked down at her pajamas. The December nights in Ireland could be colder than the ones in London, especially in the cottage where the heating system was rather primitive. Sybil had learned after her first trip to pack warm, which included her blue flannel pajamas. Edith had gotten them for her as a "gag" present; they had little cartoon images of reindeer and snowmen decorated all over them. "No, no, I've been awake; I was just about to make myself some breakfast actually, and had just made tea; would you like a cup?"

"Oh no, my dear, that's very kind of you, but I do need to hurry back to Dublin to back before I leave on my trip. But! I wanted you to meet Tommy before I left; he actually got here this morning, much earlier than I anticipated! Woke up at dawn to get here, I imagine!" she laughed. She then turned her head to the car where her nephew was, supposedly. Sybil peered over Mrs. Leech's shoulder; all she could see was the top of a head. Her nephew was crouched on the ground, on the opposite side of the car, which was shielding her view of him. "Oh, he's checking my tires; I thought I hit something sharp and was afraid I'd get a flat!" she explained. "He's very handy with cars; how are they Tommy?"

Her nephew remained crouched, but his voice was suddenly heard from the other side of the car. "They look fine; I think you won't have any trouble on the drive back to Dublin!"

Sybil frowned slightly. That didn't sound like the voice of a teenager…even an older teenager.

"Thank heaven," Mrs. Leech sighed with relief. "Well come over here and meet Miss Crawley, then!"

He rose to his full height…and Sybil's mouth fell open.

…That was _not_ the face…or the body…of an 18 or 19 year old boy. No, indeed…there was _nothing_ "boy" about him.

"Tommy, this is Miss Crawley; Miss Crawley, my nephew," Mrs. Leech introduced, quite proudly.

Sybil swallowed and stared back at the man who was now standing on the cottage doorstep, right next to his aunt. He wasn't overly tall, certainly not as tall as Larry, but still a good few inches taller than her. But whereas Larry was tall, Mrs. Leech's nephew was…broad. _Very_, broad. Was he _that_ muscular in the shoulders, chest, and arms? Or…was that simply a trick of the fabric of the coat he wore?

"Miss Crawley," he greeted, his voice and accent warm and pronounced. He smiled at her…and if Sybil weren't gripping the doorframe to help take the weight off her foot, she may have melted by the combination of that voice and smile. "Tom Branson," he introduced, holding his hand out to her.

_Tom_. Yes, Tom was the sort of name a man would have, not "Tommy"; of course, in his aunt's eyes, he would always be a little boy, no doubt.

"Sybil Crawley," she replied, her voice a higher pitch than usual. She leaned forward to take his hand, stumbling just a bit and catching herself before she did something mortifying…like falling straight into his arms.

_WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Yes, he is…handsome…but...YOU JUST GOT OUT OF A HORRIBLE RELATIONSHIP—or a relationship that you thought was wonderful but turned out to be horrible…which makes it even MORE horrible—and…no, no, no, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!_

"Sorry that we dragged you out of bed," he apologized, after giving her hand a friendly shake. Clearly he hadn't heard his aunt when she had been explaining—

Oh God. Here she was, standing before…this man…in her pajamas! In her flannel _Christmas_ _pajamas_…and her hair…she hadn't even showered yet, and her hair had a tendency to get very frizzy when she slept, and…and…OH GOD, COULDN'T THE EARTH JUST SWALLOW HER UP NOW?

"N-n-no," she coughed. "I…that is…you didn't wake me up…or…or drag me out of bed," her voice kept growing softer and softer as she spoke…and her face kept growing redder and redder. She was looking at the ground now, as if trying to find that hole for her to jump into and never been seen again.

"Oh, that's a relief," he said with a smile…and Sybil, despite her better judgement lifted her eyes…and felt her heart thumb wildly as she looked back into a lovely pair of blue eyes, with a few flecks of green…crinkle, just slightly, as he smiled.

"Now," Mrs. Leech carried on. "As I told you, Tommy has been up here in the winter before, and he's quite handy, so if you have any problems with the house, anything that needs fixing, don't hesitate to ask him, he'll take care of it, won't you?"

He seemed to blush a little himself, but murmured a somewhat bashful, "Aye, Auntie Aileen," before returning his smile to Sybil. Oh, could he please stop doing that? His smile did…_strange things_ and she didn't want to feel these strange things…not now, perhaps not…ever again.

"Do you have any questions?" Mrs. Leech turned to Sybil, looking expectant, as if everything she had just prattled made sense.

Sybil had barely been paying any attention since Mrs. Leech's nephew had arrived, so she dumbly nodded her head, before once again wishing the earth would swallow her up.

"Oh, here," Mr. Branson said, digging into his coat pocket and holding a piece of paper out for Sybil. "My mobile number, if you need me to get you anything or just need a ride or, as my aunt said, if you need help with the house or anything of any kind—"

"I can manage," she mumbled, although it wasn't so soft that he wouldn't have been able to hear it. She winced slightly at her rudeness. It wasn't his fault that he didn't fit any of the images she had concocted when Mrs. Leech told her that her nephew was coming to play chauffeur. _Stop being the psychotic angry ex-girlfriend! Don't become _that_ woman!_ And she remembered the words her sister had spoken the other day, about not hesitating to ask for help if it were needed. She knew she could be pig-headed; pride was always her greatest sin. She took the paper that he was holding and stuffed into one of her pajama pockets. "Thank you," she muttered, her eyes looking everywhere but his face.

Mr. Branson coughed and took a step back. "Right…well…call or text me; even if it's in the middle of the night. The number to the inn is on that paper, too."

Sybil nodded her head, looking down at the note. She told her mind…and her body…to stop thinking of excuses for asking Mr. Branson to come over in the middle of the night. _Good Lord, I _have_ become one of _those_ women; except instead of hating him because he's male, all I want to do is shag his brains out, as if that will somehow teach Larry a lesson, when I couldn't care less about the bastard anymore! Ugh…I'm absolutely pathetic._

"Well, Tommy, let's leave Miss Crawley in peace; we interrupted her breakfast and no doubt she has a great deal of work to do."

Mr. Branson nodded his head and turned back to face her one last time. Despite her better judgment, Sybil did lift her head and meet his gaze again. "It was nice to meet you, Miss Crawley…" he murmured, smiling once more, although Sybil could tell that this time, the friendliness of his earlier smile had transformed into something else. Pity? Concern? Why? He didn't know her; he didn't know anything about her! _Oh will you stop it? Stop being such a…oh just stop it._

"You too, Mr. Branson," she replied, putting on the smile she had worn when she first answered the door. He turned then to join his aunt at the car, and satisfied that she could do so without being any ruder than she had been just now, she shut the door and groaned, leaning her back against it and shaking her head at the silliness of it all.

_Mr. Branson doesn't deserve your coldness, and Larry doesn't deserve to have such a control on how you interact and behave with other men…or other people in general._ She dug the note containing Mr. Branson's information and put it down on a nearby table. _He's being polite and trying to help his aunt; that is all. There's no reason to be so…silly, anyway. That's not why you came here; you're here to write…and be away from all those stresses. _

She nodded her head at this, and with new determination, hobbled back to where her tea and typewriter lay, and sat down to resume what she had risen early to start. In fact, now that she had met Mr. Branson, she had a wonderful idea for a new character. She immediately typed the letters T-O-M. And for the first time that morning…a genuine smile spread across her face.

* * *

Mary sat across from Matthew, her eyes darting every so often to his profile. He had written several notes during their meeting about the upcoming press conference with Mr. Pemuk, and was now putting some of that information into his mobile. The meeting had been very "professional" and "business-like", just as it should be, of course…but Mary couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that it was now coming to an end. She found that she liked working with Matthew, that the two of them were very similar in that regard. She remembered how she once thought him uncouth and ill-mannered, of course they had been small children at the time, and that was an age when boys were regarded as anything but pleasant. But after this meeting…and even before then, their brief conversations, like the one they had had the other day, when he had leant her his mobile to contact Sybil—she discovered that Matthew Crawley was more like…her, than she realized.

And if truth be told, that both thrilled her, and terrified her beyond anything else.

"Right…I think that's the last of it," he said, putting down his mobile and looking up at her and smiling.

Mary's eyes fell once more to the mobile's screen…and took in the sight of the little boy, smiling and waving. Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and before she realized what she was saying, the question was blurted out, "is…that your son?"

Matthew's eyes went wide, and his face even seemed to have paled. He then looked down at the mobile and suddenly, much to Mary's surprise, began laughing!

"Michael? Oh no, no," Matthew continued to laugh as if she had just told him the greatest joke. Why was it so funny? It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Matthew had a child…that he had a family! She suddenly realized that she knew very little about him, save for memories of when they were children, playing at various reunions in Yorkshire.

"Michael's my godson, actually," he finally explained, after his laughter had died down.

"Oh!" Mary said, her smile spreading just a little too eagerly at this news. She quickly reprimanded herself. _Just because he doesn't have a son, or any children, doesn't mean he's not married…or have a girlfriend._ "Well…he's just darling," she said, meaning that, even though her curiosity for her cousin was growing by the second.

Matthew smiled and gazed at the image. "He started primary school this year," he told her. "He's very excited; he's got some big part in his school's Nativity play, but he won't tell me what it is," he chuckled.

Mary couldn't help but find the story sweet. "And…you're very close to him?"

Matthew nodded his head. "Michael's father was my flat-mate when I was at university," he explained. "He joined the RAF and has done several tours in both Afghanistan and Iraq."

Mary's eyes widened at this. "Oh my! Is he home now?"

Matthew sighed. "Almost, but not quite; he's in the north of Scotland right now with a team of meteorologists; but he'll be coming home for New Year's; Michael is very excited because he believes his father is 'near the North Pole' and may get see Father Christmas," Matthew chuckled.

Mary's heart was melting with each word. If only her opponents, the ones who labeled her _"Cold Crawley",_ could see her now…

"He's very lucky to have a friend like you so near," she whispered.

Matthew looked up at her and returned the smile, only now it held more tenderness, than humorous.

She felt a great heat rush to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down at the watch on her wrist. "I um…I'm so sorry to have kept you this long…I lost track of the time, it's well gone past seven, and no doubt your wife will be—"

"I'm not married."

Those three words both delighted her…and caused her stomach to churn uneasily. _Really, romance is the last thing that should be on your mind. You have far too many responsibilities, not to mention that the press will have a field day if it's learned that the Prime Minister is dating her cousin! _Still…she couldn't help but acknowledge this bit of information with a casual, "Oh?"

He smiled and tucked the mobile back into his pocket. "No…I um…I haven't been in a relationship for six years, actually."

Six years? How was that possible? Her brow was furrowed with confusion at this information. "You're joking?"

He laughed, thankfully seeing humor as opposed to being offended. "No, no, I'm serious. And um…my last girlfriend, actually, was Michael's mother."

Now Mary's eyes were bulging at the news. "W-w-what?"

Matthew continued to laugh. "Her name's Lavinia; we dated when I joined the firm in Manchester—she's a lawyer too. It seemed serious, for a while; we even talked about marriage at one point."

Mary was both dumbfounded and intrigued by this story. "What happened?"

He chuckled. "She met my flat mate, when he was home on leave," he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

She stared at him in disbelief. "She…she just…I mean, just like that, she fell in love with him?"

"Well, it's not as cut and dry as all that, I mean, there were other factors too. Despite our talk about marriage and being one of those 'lawyer couples', the kind that you see on those American dramas—we both came to realize that as much as we cared for another…we didn't really…_love_ each other. Not in the way you're supposed to love someone who you wish to spend the rest of your life with, in that sense," he tried explaining. "We realized we were better as friends than as a couple…then she met James, and it all became clear, like…a bolt of lightning."

Mary couldn't believe it. She was actually shaking her head in awe. "And…and you don't resent them? _Either of them?"_

He shook his head and she could tell he was being genuine.

"No. How could I resent two people who I deeply care about, finding the joy of…true love?" He looked down at the stack of papers on his lap and chuckled to himself. "I can only imagine how silly that sounds—"

"No…" Mary shook her head. "No, it…it sounds very wise, actually."

He smiled at this, and a moment of comfortable silence washed over them.

"But…" Mary interrupted, still amazed by this piece of news he had shared. "You haven't been in a relationship for _six years?"_

Matthew took the question in good humor. "No. I mean, I have gone on a few dates every so often, more to appease my mother—she worries about me, like that," he joked. "But…I don't know, perhaps my friends have spoiled me?"

She leaned forward, curious by these words. "What do you mean?"

"Simply that…I see the love that they have for each other, and…I know that nothing will satisfy me until I too, can find someone to love just as deeply."

He was looking at her then, and Mary felt her face grow insanely hot. She rose to her feet, taking Matthew by surprise, who tried to quickly rise to his own, but she held up a hand, a gesture that told him it was unnecessary, before quickly crossing over to the safety of her desk. "Well…I um…I still shouldn't keep you here," she mumbled, keeping her eyes to the desk surface, as if examining something of great importance.

Matthew rose then and straightened his jacket. "Nor should I keep you; no doubt you wish to retire after a long day of running the country," he gently teased.

"Yes, thank you," she whispered, finally lifting her eyes and meeting his. "Goodnight, Matthew."

He smiled and nodded his head. "Goodnight, Prime Minister."

She frowned at this, and just before he left, called out to him. "Matthew—I know it's against protocol, but…when it's just the two of us…" she could feel the blush heating her cheeks. "You can call me 'Mary'."

He smiled at this…and her heart did that strange flip-flop it had done when she first saw him in the main hall back when she started here at Number 10 Downing.

"Goodnight, Mary," he murmured.

"Goodnight," she repeated, watching him leave, until the door was completely shut. With that, she flopped back down onto her chair rather dramatically and groaned, staring up at the ceiling. She moved her gaze then to a small portrait of Sir Robert Walpole, Britain's first Prime Minister. "I don't suppose you ever suffered from this?" she muttered to the portrait. Walpole simply looked back at her, frowning and looking ridiculous in his gigantic 18th century wig. "That's what I thought, cheeky bastard."

* * *

_The Edwardian_ was so much more than a hotel for Charles Carson; it was also his home. A "extended stay" suite had been converted into a small flat, and since Charles had proven early on in his career that his career was indeed his life, the hotel owners gave him the suite to live in, after he became concierge.

He was in his "hotel flat" just then, trying to lose his mind in an episode of _"Doctor Who",_ when he heard a knock on his door. It was nearly midnight, and even though he knew that he himself should have gone to bed well over an hour ago, he couldn't help but wonder who it was that would be knocking at this hour…unless, of course, it was an emergency! He rose from his chair at once, throwing a bathrobe over his pajamas, and quickly went to the door.

"William!"

The footman gave a small, somewhat sheepish smile. "Good evening, Mr. Carson; hope I um…didn't wake you?"

"No, no, I was watching an episode of _'Doctor Who'_ actually; is everything alright downstairs?" he asked, still trying to sound professional and concerned for the hotel, when in truth he was glad to see the young footman standing there. Ever since William had made his "confession", so to speak, he had avoided talking to anyone even more so, than before. Charles was even more lost on what to do, and he honestly felt rather silly, going to Beryl and seeking her advice on the subject. Besides, he had a feeling William wouldn't appreciate that.

"Everything's fine," William reassured. "I was just…" he paused, looking just as lost on what to say as Charles had felt earlier in the week, when he tried to talk to William. "Can I come in?"

Charles was surprised by the question, especially since it was really the most William had said to him since his revelation about being in love, but he quickly stepped and aside and began nodding his head. "Yes, yes, of course."

William gave a small smile and entered the flat. He was still in his footman's livery, but he immediately began removing his tailored jacket, and laid it carefully on the back of a nearby chair. Just as I had always taught him, Charles couldn't help but think.

"Which episode are you watching?" William asked, turning towards the television screen.

"_'Blink'_," Charles answered.

William's eyes widened. "You're a brave man for watching that particular episode at this hour, Mr. Carson. Gave me nightmares for weeks!"

Charles couldn't help but chuckle, and found himself smiling as William settled down onto the chair where he had laid his jacket. Just like old times, it seemed, when William had first introduced Charles to _"Doctor Who"._ Charles didn't want to ruin this moment, so he quietly returned to where he had been sitting before William knocked on his door, and resumed the DVD, both them absorbing the episode, and cringing whenever the "weeping angels" floated onto the screen. Halfway through the episode, as one of the characters talked about meeting the woman who became his future wife, William asked out of nowhere, "Do you think that happens?"

Charles was confused, and paused the DVD before turning to look at William. "Time-travel?"

William laughed, and Charles was glad that he had seen his joke. But his smile faded once again to a look of intense concentration, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Do you think that happens…people meeting the ones they're supposed to be with for the rest of their lives…just like that?"

Charles was hardly the expert on this subject. "I don't know…" he murmured.

William turned to him then, and Charles was taken aback slightly, but the intensity he saw in the footman's gaze. "What do you believe, Mr. Carson? Please…"

What did he believe? About what? _LOVE?_ Charles Carson was not a man who ever really…gave Love much thought. When he came to London, he was sixteen years old and had a mere fifty pounds in his pocket. But he worked himself to the bone, first as a dish washer in the kitchens, to a waiter in the restaurants, to a doorman, a desk clerk, a footman…and then finally, as concierge. His career had been his sole purpose; everything else hadn't mattered. He heard stories of friends who had married and had children and grandchildren, but he...he remained married, so to speak, to _The Edwardian_.

Of course…what was going to happen when he retired, which wasn't so far away? Where would he go then? And what would he do? What does a person do, when they discover that everything they've dedicated their life to…is no longer a part of their life?

"I…I think we meet people, who…who make our lives better," he answered honestly. It was the best he could do.

William nodded his head and sighed, before looking down. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his fingers knotted together. He looked tense, to say the least. Tense and distraught.

"Daisy."

Charles frowned "What?"

"Daisy," William repeated, before lifting his eyes and meeting those of the older man. "Daisy…Mrs. Patmore's sous-chef."

Charles was confused. "Yes, what about her?"

And then it dawned on him. Oh Lord, how could he have been so blind as to not realize what William had been trying to say?

"Daisy is…is the girl you're in love with?"

William nodded his head.

Charles felt his throat go dry. Now what should he say? He didn't really know Daisy that well; she answered to Mrs. Patmore, and that was also where all of his information regarding the girl had come from. But…she hadn't been on staff for that long. Had it even been a month since she started working at _The Edwardian_? "How long have you known Daisy?" he found himself asking. Perhaps William had met her before, somewhere?

"Since the day she arrived here," he murmured. He paused and Charles thought perhaps he was waiting for him to say something further. But then William continued…and Charles noticed the lad's face just…light up suddenly, as if all of the stars in the heavens were shining upon his face. "I think she's heaven, Mr. Carson. Everything about her; the way she moves and speaks, the little smiles she wears when she tastes something…the sound of her laugh…" he groaned then and buried his face into his hands. "She's the sweetest person I know…but I doubt she even knows who I am."

Charles was speechless. What could he say to this? If he were honest, he envied William, because he honestly couldn't claim ever feeling the same way…but…it did sound nice.

The cynical realist in him thought perhaps he was needed to dispense some "fatherly advice". "I'm sure Daisy is lovely, William, but…she's not the only woman in the world—"

William shook his head. "Kathy traveled back in time to be with the man she was meant for," William indicated, pointing to the screen before them. "And the same was true for Detective Inspector Billy. And for Amy and Rory—"

"Who?" Charles asked, looking confused.

"Later series, you'll get to it," William explained with a wave of his hand. "But the point is…I feel it deep in my heart, Mr. Carson, Daisy _is_ the one…" he sighed and looked back down at his feet. "And I have no idea what to do."

Charles didn't know what to say. He was completely flabbergasted by William's passionate declaration. And he remained sitting there in silence, as the footman quietly rose to his feet, and went to retrieve his jacket. "Thank you for letting me sit with you, Mr. Carson."

"Always a pleasure, William," he murmured, meaning what he said, but at the same feeling very small and insignificant. What had he done to help the lad? Nothing! No advice he could offer would make William feel better, and just like his friend, he absolutely had no idea on what William should do. Perhaps if he had some experience with love and romance, he could?

"Oh, and Mr. Carson," William sighed, turning to face him before leaving the flat. "I…I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Mrs. Patmore…please?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Charles answered honestly. At least that much he could promise. "Your secret is safe with me…and I trust you," he reassured. William was not like Alfred or Jimmy; he was responsible and Charles knew William wouldn't do anything to jeopardize Daisy's position at the hotel. Of course, by that same token…William may not do _anything_ at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," he murmured, then bid the older man goodnight, before leaving at last.

Charles turned off the DVD; he didn't need to watch anything further, not tonight. And William was right; he could see the episode giving him nightmares. He thought about the examples the lad had given about "one true love". All of his examples were fictional, and yet…despite that, there was something to be said about them. A wisdom to be gained. And who was he, someone who had never been in love, to mock those examples?

With a great sigh, Charles stretched and turned off the lights in his flat, pulling back the covers and settling into his bed, listening as somewhere in the distance, Big Ben chimed the hour. Another day had passed…and the world was now another week closer to Christmas.

* * *

_"Blink" was the first "Doctor Who" episode I ever saw (I know, I'm a late-comer to the Whovian party) and not only did it scare the heck out of me, but it also brought on a love for the show. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it-and in my opinion, it's a great episode to see if you aren't familiar with "Doctor Who" too._


	7. 3 Weeks to Christmas (part I)

_Sorry for the delay, but here is the next update! Now as many of you know, this story follows a "bulk" of the action that you find in the film, "Love Actually", but because there are so many different Downton characters, and because the storylines here don't follow 100% the storylines in the movie, there will be moments and scenes that have NO MATCH or similar relationship to scenes in the film...and one of those scenes in this chapter. But I felt it was needed, to help show the growth of one of those relationships. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

_A special shout out to **Peachdreamsandperseus**, who mentioned how she was looking forward to a particular scene...well my dear, here it is! Thanks for reading and please leave a comment!_

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

**3 Weeks to Christmas (part I)**

The studio lights illuminated with life, a sign overhead began flashing, and the crowd just beyond Sarah's shoulder immediately erupted with applause. She was standing just off to the side of the studio soundstage, looking onto the screen of a camera, while Thomas waved and smiled at the cheering crowd.

Fate had offered him a second chance. Or rather, it had offered _her_, a second chance.

After the debacle on the radio station, she was convinced Thomas' career was over, which in essence meant hers as well (who would want to hire Thomas Barrow's former manager?) but she was shocked to receive ten phone calls that night—TEN—from different radio stations, journalists, and even a few talk shows, wanting to interview "Bad Boy Barrow", hoping that perhaps he would say even more brutally honest, outrageous things…and possibly reveal more celebrity gossip like that of publically outing the Duke of Crowborough.

However, despite all the calls, Sarah wasn't sure if these people really knew what they were getting themselves into, making such requests. And she wanted to be extra careful when booking his next appearance. She knew he needed the exposure—after all, that was her job; find him the jobs, book them, get word out so the record would sell. Yet despite the "popularity" he was receiving for his on-air antics, she wanted to make sure he didn't become a joke. So she held off on the television appearances…until now.

Prior to him going out, she cornered him in his dressing room and made him promise over and over that he wouldn't talk about his sex life, or his many conquests, or say anything negative, at all, about the record. He groaned and rolled his eyes and squirmed like a toddler who wanted to be anywhere but where he was…but finally agreed, even going so far as to look into her eyes and sigh, "I promise, Miss O'Brien." She would just have to hope and pray he meant it.

"WELCOME BACK!" the hosts cried to the applauding crowd. Sarah bit her lip and watched the scene unfold before her. So far, Thomas was behaving…of course, so far, he hadn't had to say anything. He seemed perfectly content with waving and smiling and blowing the occasional kiss to an audience member. Sarah looked long and hard at the audience. Most of the crowd was made up of teenagers and young twenty-somethings. How many of them even knew who Thomas was? Granted, he wasn't as old as that Billy Mack (who somehow managed to make Mick Jagger look like a boyscout), but these audience members weren't in the same "demographic" that most of Thomas' fans were in (did he still have genuine fans? She would have to check-up on that).

"So, Thomas!" one of the hosts grinned. "We understand it's been a very busy time for you! New single, new record…and we understand that you just recently completed the music video?"

Thomas turned his attention away from the crowd and focused on the hosts before him. "Yes, and I understand that it will be making its world premiere…right here, today, on your show!"

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good; he was behaving himself, even mentioned the music video. _Keep it up, my friend, keep it up!_

"And we're looking forward to it!" the other host said with a smile. "Now…it's only three weeks till Christmas," he continued. "Do you think you have what it takes to make it to number one?"

"Well, that depends, Ant or Dec," Thomas sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Who's my competition?"

The two hosts exchanged looks. Even Sarah couldn't help but groan. Still, the hosts managed to move pass the initial embarrassment of having their names misused, and continued with a professional manner. "Well, it looks like the big competition will actually be none other than One Direction."

Sarah winced as the decimal level of the screams from the studio audience went above that in which only dogs could hear.

Thomas, however, didn't look phased in the slightest.

"Ah yes, I saw them on the show last week…" he remarked, smiling every so often at the camera. "Hmmm…if memory serves, they weren't very nice about my record…"

Sarah bit her lip. _Oh bollocks_.

The hosts both laughed. "Little scamps," they joked, smiling at the camera before looking back at Thomas. Now was the moment everyone in Britain was waiting for—Thomas to say something outrageous just as he had done on the radio.

Instead, he looked directly in the camera, and said with the utmost confidence and politeness, "But they are very, very talented musicians."

Sarah stared at the screen, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open. Even the hosts looked shocked by this…show of decency.

"Um…yeah…" one of them mumbled, looking to the other for help on what to say next.

"SO!" the other host quickly intervened. "Thomas, as you know, we have a competition on this show, and we always ask our guests to bring something as a prize for the winner…"

"Ah yes!" Thomas smiled. "And I do have a prize, Ant or Dec," he went on, causing Sarah to groan again. Then her eyes flew open as realization dawned on her. Prize? WHAT PRIZE? She knew nothing about this—Thomas hadn't said anything to her about bringing a "prize" onto the show. She grabbed the screen with both hands and watched, as he reached into his jacket pocket…and pulled out…a marker?

"A personalized felt-tip pen, by yours truly!" Thomas grinned at the cameras, before turning and showing the audience what he held.

It seemed everyone wasn't quite sure what to make of this so-called "prize".

"Oh…" one of the hosts said, plastering a smile on his face. "That's um…that's great!"

Thomas, however, seemed to be clueless to everyone's reaction. "It is, Ant or Dec!" he grinned. "This is a brilliant prize, because there are so many things you can do with it! For example, you can pretend you're a talented musician from a British boy band…" he gestured towards a poster of One Direction. "And write fake autographs…OR…" he took the pen and began to draw moustaches…followed by long, dangling breasts…on the poster of the boy band. "…You can draw on glass with it, like this! In fact, you can even write on glass, too!"

Sarah watched in horror as Thomas continued to deface the picture. But it took an entirely new spin, when Thomas began to write in a giant "word bubble" above the boy band members, that they all had little—

"Um…we do have a lot of kids watching, Thomas…" one of the hosts interrupted.

"Oh Thomas…" Sarah groaned, smacking her head against the screen.

"OH!" Thomas turned back to the camera, his back to the now hysterically giggling audience who no doubt had seen on various screens all over the studio, what he was doing to the One Direction poster. "Yes, thank you Ant or Dec for that reminder…" he looked very serious then. "Kids…listen to your Uncle Thomas. _Don't buy drugs."_

Sarah lifted her head and stared at the screen, both disbelieving his sudden "responsible message" and dreading what was really behind it. The poor hosts were trying to cover their shock from what he had done with the One Direction poster, and now also putting on smiles for the camera, nodding their heads with Thomas' declaration. Oh those poor, simple-minded fools; they had no idea…

"Well, thank you, Th—"

"BECOME A POP STAR AND THEY'LL GIVE YOU THE DRUGS FOR FREE!"

A roar of laughter and cheering erupted all around them and one of the hosts (Ant or Dec) leapt in, announcing that they were going to a quick commercial break, before coming back and airing Thomas' music video. The bloody fool just kept on grinning and smiling and waving at the crowd and camera, while the hosts looked lost and unsure what to do next. Sarah meanwhile went back to smacking her head against the screen. With any luck…she would drive herself into a coma…and not wake up until Christmas was over.

* * *

Evelyn groaned as he ushered the last of the school children out of the gallery; for the past few weeks it had been the same thing day after day: kids coming into the gallery to sneak a peek at the naked photographs that lined the walls. His mother owned the gallery and she was the one who booked the artists, however he, for all intents and purposes, ran the place, and he had some serious questions about his mother's so-called taste in "art".

The sound of a mobile ringing began to echo around the now child-free space. He quickly rushed over to the information desk where he left it…and smiled as he recognized the number ringing. "Anthony!" he grinned. "So you're back? How was Barbados? I thought you would try to claim political asylum while out there."

The voice on the other end laughed heartily at Evelyn's joke. "It was tempting, I can't deny," Sir Anthony murmured. "Especially since I returned and was greeted by a completely different sort of 'asylum'," he muttered.

"They can't do anything without you," Evelyn sighed. "I know what that can feel like, sometimes."

"Indeed…or is it, 'I don't think they can do anything without me', when in truth, they all cheer once I'm out the door?"

"No, it's definitely the first."

The two men chuckled once again. The Strallen's and the Napier's had been neighbors and friends for many, many years. Evelyn's mother was in truth, best friends with Anthony's older sister. Anthony was a student at university when Evelyn was born, and yet despite the gap in their ages, the two became very good friends, especially after Evelyn's parents divorced when he was only eight years old. Yet he never saw Anthony as a "father" figure—more like a big brother. And it was Anthony who took young Evelyn fishing, taught him how to shoot, ride a horse, and all those other "country sports". Anthony also taught Evelyn how to drive a car, and even took him for his first drink down at the pub on the morning of his 18th birthday (even though Evelyn had already sampled some of the spirits in his mother's liquor cabinet before then). Evelyn had been extremely honored when Anthony asked him to be his best man, and despite his own personal…misgivings…he accepted the position, and stood proud and tall next to his friend.

_If only it could be as simple as it had been in the past_, he couldn't help but think.

"Oh! Edith is on the other line!"

Evelyn's smile immediately fell. "Oh…well…um…I'll let you answer her then, and talk to you later—"

"No, no, you misunderstand," Anthony explained. "She wishes to talk to you."

"What?" Evelyn practically choked. He began to fiddle with his tie—it suddenly felt very tight. And the room felt rather…uncomfortable. "Me? W-w-why?" he stammered.

"She has a question for you," Anthony simply explained. "I'll patch her through—"

"No, um…I mean, you don't need to do that, and besides, I have a massive crowd that just walked in—"

"Be nice," Anthony warned, half joke, half serious.

Evelyn winced at this. So his friend _had_ noticed…

"Nice?" he tried to laugh. "I'm _always_ nice! I don't know what you—"

"Evelyn?"

He thought for certain he had swallowed his tongue.

"Evelyn?" she repeated again. "Evelyn, are you there?"

He closed his eyes, summoned all the strength he had, and finally answered her. "Um…yeah, I'm here," he tried to sound cool and casual…and busy. He wanted her to think he needed to hang up soon.

"Oh, wonderful!" Edith sighed with relief. "I'm so glad to have the chance to speak with you!"

_Really?_ He coughed and glanced once again at the empty gallery. "Well…that's very nice, but…I was just telling Anthony that a large crowd just walked in—"

"Oh don't worry, I won't keep you for long," Edith reassured. "I just had a quick question for you."

_Quick question?_ "Alright…" he murmured. Why did he have a feeling this was going to lead to trouble?

"I was wondering if I could have a look at the video you made of the wedding?"

All the color from Evelyn's face began to drain. "Um…why?" He winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. _Brilliant, just brilliant_. That would no doubt bring on more questions—and possibly bring Anthony's wrath, if his blushing bride told him about Evelyn's rudeness to her on the phone.

Indeed, Edith did sound taken aback, just a little. But she quickly overcame that and he could hear the smile she was putting on. "Well, I just would like to have a look at it! Before I show it to my parents, or my sister—I just would very much like to be the first." He heard a soft giggle from the other end, and he closed his eyes at the sound. "I mean, you can't blame a girl for wanting to see how she looked in her wedding dress, can you?"

He tried to chuckle back, but he just couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to laugh at all, wherever she was concerned. "Um…well, it's not finished," he tried to explain.

"Not finished?"

"Um, yeah…I…I need to edit it a little more."

"Oh! Oh don't worry about that, I don't mind seeing the 'director's cut'," she teased, giggling her musical laugh again.

"That's all very good, but considering who this video has been made for, I demand perfection."

"Oh I was only joking," Edith tried to reassure. "Look, how about I just pop over sometime this week? You can lend me the video, and I'll bring it back to you the next day, I promise, and that should hopefully give you plenty of time to continue editing—"

"This week?" he interrupted. "Um…no, sorry, I'm really busy this week. And next week too," he quickly added. "I…you'll just have to wait, I'm sorry."

He heard a pause on the other end; no doubt she was wondering why he sounded so strange. "Evelyn, I don't understand—"

"Look, I'm sorry, I really am, but it is quite busy here, so I'm going to have to go—I'll talk to Anthony later about when the video is ready, don't worry," and with that, he hung up. "Oh God…" he groaned, his head falling into his empty hands. Yes, he would get an earful from Anthony for that conversation, he had no doubt. But what else could he do? He was trying his hardest, honestly! He was doing the best that he could…but it all just seemed to be…hopeless.

The phone began ringing again. Evelyn groaned and despite his better judgment, picked it up to answer. "Look, Edith, I'm sorry I can't—"

"Who's Edith?"

Evelyn's eyes widened, and he quickly glanced at the number on the phone. "Sorry, Jane, I…um…just a…she's just a friend," he muttered, trying his best to regain his composure. "So, how can I help you?"

* * *

Anna looked even more depressed than before he had spoken to her about approaching Bates and asking him out. She was sitting at her desk, trying to rearrange her pens and pencils of all things, and kept miserably glancing up towards Bates' desk…where he sat, once again, on his mobile. Robert really needed to find out who it was that Bates was constantly talking to. He hadn't asked before because he didn't want to be one of "those" bosses, who felt the need to know every single detail of his employee's lives. However, there had been several complaints by other people in the office about Bates always being on the phone, and how much the annoying ringtone distracted them. Some of those very people were giving Bates the evil eye in that moment, and he quickly rose from his desk, muttering an "excuse me", before disappearing into the hallway just outside to continue his conversation.

Robert sighed and shook his head, before walking over to the coffee machine and refreshing his cup. He looked over at Anna, and noticed how her own head had perked up when Bates rose from his desk, before lowering again to her pencil jar, and depressingly continuing the rearrangement of her writing implements.

"So…" Robert murmured, quietly coming up to Anna's desk. "How um…how are you this morning?"

Anna lifted her eyes, but unlike previous moments, she didn't bother to put on a fake smile. "Lovely," she mumbled, which of course was the exact opposite of how she was.

Robert sighed again, and glanced down at her own empty mug. "Would you like a refresher?"

She shook her head. "No…" she mumbled.

Robert nodded. "Of course," he whispered. "Naturally, you want to wait until Bates—"

"It doesn't matter," Anna muttered, surprising Robert with how…bitter…she sounded. No matter what was happening in the world, Robert had always counted on Anna being the person who could find the "bright side" to any situation. While some may find that annoying, Robert found it…refreshing. And hopeful. But this was a side to Anna Robert was not used to seeing—in fact, he couldn't recall the last time Anna seemed so…wretched.

He looked around and noticed that few were paying attention to the two of them, then bent his head to whisper, "Did something happen?"

Anna looked up at him and thrust the pencil jar away, before leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "More like 'nothing' happened," she grumbled. Now it was her turn to look around, and when she was satisfied, once again, that no one seemed to be looking, she whispered back, "I…I tried to talk to him; I tried to…to invite him…to join me for a drink after work," she explained.

Robert's eyes widened a bit at this revelation. He wasn't sure if Anna would take his advice about approaching Bates and expressing her feelings. After all, she had been in love with the man for nearly seven years and hadn't done anything. So to hear this now…he couldn't help but smile. "Really?" he asked, leaning closer and grinning like an idiot.

However that smile faded at the pained expression on her face. "Nothing happened," she repeated once again. "Nor will it ever."

Robert frowned at this. "Don't say that, Anna."

"It's true," she muttered, turning her face away. "I had just mustered up the courage to ask him, when his mobile rang. Someone else wanted him…and…and…and I realized then," she paused to quickly wipe something away from her face, "that he's far too good for me."

"Anna!" Robert gasped in shock.

"It's true, he is!" she retorted, and then turned and pointed a finger at him. "And don't you dare say anything to him!" she warned.

He stared at her, slightly affronted by her accusation. "Say anything?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you, boss. I know that because the two of you are 'old friends', that you'll corner Mr. Bates and…and try to make him feel sorry for me…" she reached then for a magazine that was lying on her desk and rolled it up, before lifting it in a somewhat "threatening" gesture. "So you better not! Or else!"

Robert looked at the magazine she held…and took one of the envelopes he had collected from the company postbox, and raised it as if to counter her attack.

Anna stared at him, then her eyes danced to his envelope, before looking back at his face. He lifted the envelope even higher, fully prepared to defend himself.

…And Anna burst out laughing.

Robert couldn't help but chuckle too; it was good to hear Anna laugh. She deserved to be happy, truly.

Anna continued laughing, dropping her magazine and ignoring the looks that some people were now giving them. Robert laughed as well, and the two of them were so lost in the moment, that they didn't realize someone had approached them.

"What's so funny?"

Anna suddenly sat up straight and stared at the very man they had just been talking about. Her face was pale for a moment…and then began to darken to a bright red. Robert turned to face Bates and put on a pleasant smile. "Oh simply that…Anna told me the most wonderful joke."

"Oh, really?" Bates smiled and turned his gaze towards Anna. "I would like to hear it."

Anna's eyes widened and she turned to Robert for help. Robert, however, was already beginning to back away, leaving the two would-be lovebirds (he hoped) to themselves.

"So…what's the joke then?" he asked, smiling back at her.

"I…I um…" she looked so lost and unsure what to say. However, she was "saved by the bell" when a shrill and all-too-familiar ringtone suddenly filled the air.

"Oh God," Robert groaned, as Bates sighed, before apologizing to Anna and once again answering the phone…and retreating to hallway outside. Robert looked to Anna then, but she only shook her head, before forcing her attention back to her computer screen, and trying to once again resume whatever she had been working on. No wonder the poor woman thought it was hopeless! Really, who could it be that was calling Bates so much?

"We're all set!"

He turned to then to catch Jane's smiling face, and Robert suddenly felt his own skin heat up and darken a bright shade of red. "Set?"

She nodded her head. "I managed to book us the gallery; that one I told you about in Chelsea?"

"Oh! Oh yes, for the party," Robert smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Excellent, excellent."

"I told you it wouldn't be any trouble," she grinned.

"That's right, you did, you did," he took a rather nervous sip of his coffee. "Well…I must say, Jane, I'm impressed."

She beamed at this. "Thank you, sir."

"I mean it; not many people could do what you did in the short amount of time given. And um…you were able to make all the arrangements for food and wine and such?"

She nodded her head. "And the invitations have all been sent and accounting already has the receipts; as I said sir, we're all set."

Robert smiled at this. Perhaps he could relax this Christmas? "Well…splendid! And um…remind me again, where did you hear about this gallery?"

"A friend I know runs it," she explained. "It's not pretentious like some of those places can be. Just a nice simple gallery…with plenty of dark corridors…"

Robert nearly choked on his coffee. "Oh?"

"Yes," she murmured, turning her chair to face him fully…and uncrossing her legs. "And the current exhibit they're showing is on the beauty of the human body…I think you would like it."

He stared at her, and once again felt the urge to loosen his tie and collar. "I um…well…that's wonderful…" he coughed. "I um…perhaps I should pop down there and have a look?"

His eyes widened…as she parted her legs just slightly.

"Oh you should," Jane purred. "You really, _really_ should."

Was she…? With _him_…?

"I…I um…" Jane continued smiling that dazzling smile, and giggling that sweet, sleigh bell laugh. Robert didn't know what else to say…so he did what any man in a position like him would do—he lifted his coffee mug to hide his burning face, and took a great sip of the burning liquid as he retreated into his office. Oh God, if only it were as easy for his mind to escape her presence.

* * *

Three whole days had passed since she had met Mrs. Leech's nephew. Three days of blissful solitude—physically, speaking. That wasn't to say that Mr. Branson—_Tom_—as she remembered him telling her, wasn't in her thoughts. No, if truth be told, the handsome Irishman had been in her thoughts ever since she had met him, three days ago.

The piece of paper containing his mobile number seemed to be shouting at her, whenever she passed it. At one point she was tempted to rip the thing up and toss it into the still unfrozen pond just outside the cottage. But that would be taking this entire thing to even sillier heights. So instead, she did her best to ignore his note…and her thoughts…and concentrate completely on her writing. And it worked! At least for the first two nights. But by the end of the third day…and in the middle of the third night…Sybil knew she couldn't ignore the man any longer, especially when she was convinced the heating had somehow broken and she could start to see clouds of air escape her mouth from inside the cottage.

With a groan, she crawled out of bed, gasping as her cold feet touched the even colder floor, and limped into the kitchen where the number now resided, grabbing it and retreating back to the bed, diving under the covers with her mobile, and quickly dialed the numbers, while her teeth chattered.

It began ringing. Sybil bit her lip, wondering if this was a good idea. According to her alarm clock, it was half-three in the morning. No doubt she would be waking him from a sound sleep. Oh God, what if there was someone with him? What if he had a girlfriend? Or not even that, what if he, with his roguish good looks and charming smile, had picked some "pretty lass" up at the pub, and they were in the midst of "celebrating" the season, while she was ringing? _What if he has a boyfriend?_ Ugh; Sybil was all for equal rights, but…what a waste!

_I should hang up; this is ridiculous. I'll be fine; I'll just throw a jumper over my pajamas, put on some extra thick socks, and wrap every blanket the house has around me—_

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.

Sybil gasped upon hearing the sound of his voice. "Oh! I…I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

She heard what sounded like shuffling—or rather, what sounded like he was trying to sit up in bed. "Miss Crawley?"

"Y-y-yes…" she stuttered, her teeth still chattering quite a bit. "I…f-forgive me, Mr. B-B-Branson."

"Are you alright? Forgive me, but you sound—"

"Well…it's f-f-f-funny t-that you m-m-mention that," she tried to joke. "Um…t-t-the heat, you see—"

"I'll be right there." And he hung up.

Sybil sat there for a moment, somewhat stunned by the conversation that had just taken place. And then a realization dawned on her. _OH GOD, HE'S COMING OVER NOW?_ She threw the blankets off, and leapt out of the bed once again (or as best as one could, wearing a cast). Grabbing her crutches, she hobbled into the kitchen, scanning the mess she had left there. She immediately filled the sink with as much dish soap and hot water as she could (lukewarm at this point, thanks to the broken heat which was clearly beginning to affect the hot water supply) and pushed all the dirty dishes into it. She then limped around the living room, trying to tidy the table up where a million tea mugs seemed to have suddenly appeared, along with half a dozen empty crisp packets and sweet wrappers. She then rushed across the room to the now cold radiator, where several of her bras were hanging, and threw them, along with other clothing items that had been strewn across her bedroom floor, into a wash basket, then stuffed the basket quickly into the wardrobe.

_TIME!_ She glanced at the clock; 3:37am. The village was ten minutes at most. "My hair!" she gasped, and hobbled into the bathroom, nearly shrieking at the Medusa-like sight that met her in the mirror. She grabbed a brush and quickly tried to tame the brown frizz that was her hair, while at the same time, taking her toothbrush and squeezing a hefty amount of toothpaste onto it, and stuffing that in her mouth. With one hand brushing her hair, the other tried to brush her teeth. _Have I gone completely bonkers?_ She imagined a little feminist popping up on one shoulder, shaking a finger at her for getting so silly over a man coming over. Meanwhile, on her other shoulder, a little seductress in a tight red negligee chastised her for not putting on something more…alluring, for her soon-to-be-arriving-at-any-moment guest.

Just then, a knock was heard. Sybil spat the toothpaste out of her mouth and stiffened as it came again, followed by a concerned, "Miss Crawley?"

"Oh God…" she groaned, putting down her brush and looking at herself one last time in the mirror. Three days ago she had met Mr. Branson…and ironically…she was wearing the exact same outfit she had worn upon their first meeting. "Well…at least he's used to it," she grumbled to herself. She grabbed her crutches and hobbled towards the door.

_Oh for heaven's sake!_ Mr. Branson was standing there, smiling at her when she opened door, and despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and she had woken him up—he looked just as handsome as he had when she had first met him three days ago._ Life's not fair._

"Bloody hell, it _is_ freezing!" he gasped upon stepping inside. "It may actually be warmer outside! How long has it been like this?" Sybil couldn't help but admit that the way he looked at her just then melted her heart, ever so slightly. When was the last time a man had looked at her with that sort of concern?

"_Stop it right there!"_ the little feminist voice warned her.

"Not very long…" she answered, her arms moving to hug herself to keep some of the flannel's warmth locked to her body. "I only started to notice it earlier this evening."

Mr. Branson nodded his head. "I brought some tools that I keep in the car; I'll go have a look—" he paused as he noticed her standing there, shivering. "Why don't you get back into bed? I won't be very long…normally it just takes a few solid bangs with a wrench to get it working again," he joked.

"_I have a better idea!"_ the little seductress challenged. _"Why don't you invite him to join you in bed? That will definitely keep you warm! Then he can show you what else his wrench can bang—"_

"Tea!" Sybil gasped, in her attempts to silence her thoughts from sinking deeper into wickedness. "I um…I think I'll make some tea," she turned to hide the rising pinkness of her cheeks. "Would you care for a cup, Mr. Branson?"

"Tom," he smiled. "And thank you, Miss Crawley; that would be very nice."

She blushed but returned the smile. "You're welcome…and please…call me Sybil."

As the kettle boiled, Mr. Branson—_Tom_, disappeared into a utility closet just beyond the kitchen's pantry, and she heard him rattle around with his tool box, muttering little things to himself, sometimes in English, other times in a language she could only assume was his native Irish, while pausing every so often to bang his wrench, just as he had said. Just when the kettle started to scream it's announcement that the water was ready, a loud clunking sound could be heard coming from the radiator…and then suddenly, a low whirring sound began to reverberate through all corners of the cottage…and a sigh of relief escaped Sybil's lungs as she felt the first breaths of warm air begin to puff forth into the atmosphere.

"That should do it!" Tom announced from the utility closet.

"Perfect timing!" Sybil answered, removing the kettle from the stove. "How do you take your tea?"

Tom emerged from the closet and Sybil felt her cheeks redden again as she realized that despite the chilly air around the cottage, he had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to just past his elbows…offering a rather..."revealing"…glimpse of his muscular biceps. "You don't happen to have Irish Breakfast by any chance?"

Sybil shook her head, ignoring the seductress' squeals at the sight of his muscles, and immediately began throwing open several cupboards above the kitchen sink. "Um…yes, I believe so," she blubbered. "I um…I believe there's a variety pack of Twinings up here; ah yes! Yes, and there's some Irish Breakfast."

"Great," he smiled, rolling his shirt sleeves down and covering his arms once more. She couldn't deny she was a little disappointed. "And no need to add anything to it; straight black for me—like my coffee, actually."

"Would you rather have coffee?"

"No, tea is perfect. I just need something strong enough to keep me awake on the drive back," he joked.

She bit her lip as she placed the tea bags in their respective cups. She decided to have Irish Breakfast as well. "I'm really sorry I woke you—"

"No, don't be," he assured. "I meant what I said when I gave you my number. I'm here to help no matter the time, day or night."

Had Larry ever been that attentive? _"Now don't go and compare the two!"_ the feminist chastised. _"You don't think it's fair when men do that with women, so don't you fall prey to that same trap!"_

"Still…it was very kind of you," she murmured, handing him his cup. He smiled and took a sip, his face puckering slightly as the dark brew touched his tongue. Still, his smile never truly faded, and he took another sip, clearly appreciating the cup. She had never drunk black tea without at least a little milk. She was fascinated by the sight, and decided to test it, lifting her mug to her own lips and taking a sip.

She immediately began coughing.

Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "Are you alright?" he asked, leaning forward to pat her back.

"Good Lord!" she gasped, putting her mug down. "That's…that's very, very strong!"

He laughed and continued patting her back. "Yeah, my mam won't drink it without a few drops of milk, at least. My da drank his black, though, so I guess it's his fault that I do the same."

She blushed as she realized his hand was still on her back. He seemed to make the same realization and withdrew it, much to her disappointment. It felt nice…and warm…and soothing…

"So my aunt tells me you're a writer?"

She shook her head, quickly coming back to reality. "Hmm? Oh! Oh yes, I um…yes…novels, mainly."

Tom smiled at this and took another sip of his tea. "What sort, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I've dabbled in several genres," she admitted, blushing a little more.

"Sci-Fi/Fantasy?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, no, not yet at least," she grinned. "Lately, I've been writing a lot of crime fiction."

"Ah, mystery writer," he grinned. "The next Agatha Christie?"

"Ha! I wish," she laughed with a shake of her head as she guiltily added some milk to her brew. "I've actually hit a bit of writer's block, to be honest. My publisher wants me to do something 'dramatic' and 'shocking' with my next book, but…I've hit a wall on what to do," she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm hoping this time away will help me figure all that out."

He nodded his head and took another sip. "I can relate…I've sort of hit a similar wall."

Sybil's eyes widened at this revelation. "Oh? You write too?"

He chuckled. "Don't get your hopes up; it's nowhere near as exciting as what you do. No, I'm actually working on my doctorate—history and politics," he explained. "I love both subjects so much, and hope one day to perhaps teach them to others, although I know my dissertation sounds duller than paint drying; I have no idea who would want to read it."

Sybil found herself leaning closer, her elbows resting on the kitchen counter and her chin resting atop her hands. "What's it about?"

He chuckled and looked down at the dark liquid in his cup. "The Rise of Socialism in Irish Politics and how it impacted the Irish fight for independence in the early part of the 20th century." Her eyes widened and he couldn't help but laugh. "See? I told you it was dull."

Sybil quickly shook her head. "No! No, it doesn't sound dull at all! It sounds…well, to be honest, it sounds a little intimidating! Just…I can't imagine what it must be like to tackle a subject like that! The research it must require…and the patience!"

He laughed but nodded his head. "Oh, you have no idea," he chuckled. "I've been working on it for four years now; I've joked with my family that when the time comes and I finish the damn thing, they'll have to wheel me across the stage to receive my degree."

It was impossible not to join in his laughter. He had such a wonderful, rich laugh…like a warm blanket that you just wanted to completely enfold you. _"And I can think of some other ways he can enfold you…"_ the seductress teased.

"So…you're still working on it now, then?" she asked, ignoring the little wicked voice.

He nodded his head. "In some ways, I too am on a 'writer's retreat'," he smiled. "I bring my laptop up here whenever I come to stay. It is very peaceful, so I can understand the allure of this place."

She blushed then, and quickly looked down at her cup. And suddenly, before she realized what she was doing, the words tumbled out, "Perhaps…if you would like…I…I could maybe offer some insight, as an outsider…?"

_What am I doing?_ She couldn't believe she had just said that! She was no expert on Irish history or politics! And while she had been very much involved with various progressive causes back in Britain, especially while she was a student, it was hardly the same!

"You'd be willing to read it?"

She looked up at him…and instead of seeing a questioning glance of uncertainty (after all, she was a stranger; they barely knew each other!) she saw flicker of…eagerness?

"You mean that? Really? You want to read my dissertation? Or what I have of it, I mean?"

She blushed, feeling rather humbled by his enthusiasm, but nodded her head. "It's the least I can do for all that you've done in braving the cold and saving me from freezing," she giggled, returning her gaze to her tea once more. But she did glance up and catch his warm, blue-green gaze as she murmured, quite honestly, "besides, it does sound rather fascinating—and I highly doubt it's duller than dry paint."

He chuckled and returned to sipping his tea. "We shall see; you may regret this, though," he teasingly warned.

_A part of me already is_, she found herself thinking. And it had nothing to do with whether or not she read his work. She realized then that she was allowing herself to…_feel_. And that despite the fact that both she and Tom Branson were complete strangers, she was already letting the charming Irishman into her heart—something which she wasn't sure had completely healed…or would ever heal.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	8. 3 Weeks to Christmas (part II)

_Here's the next installment! And if you're a Mary/Matthew fan, you'll hopefully like this chapter, as it's heavily focused on the Prime Minister's "meeting" with a certain foreign diplomat. Also, there's some Robert/Cora moments too for those fans! This chapter is long (which I know is not too unusual for me) but it was difficult to write, because I was trying to capture that emotional/political spirit that we get in the film, and fit it to what's being talked about here. I hope I did it justice (and whether you're a Brit or not) you can feel pride :o) _

_Thanks for reading! And thank you to everyone who has left me comments and continue to read! I appreciate them so much! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

**3 Weeks to Christmas (part II)**

"Prime Minister?" Gwen knocked on Mary's office door, and she rose to her feet at the sight of her personal assistant. She merely lifted an eyebrow and Gwen nodded her head. "The Turkish Ambassador is here."

Mary closed her eyes very briefly, recited a little prayer-like mantra that she had gotten into the habit of reciting before she took the stage or stood before the camera to make any sort of speech, and then smoothed her suit jacket, before following Gwen into the corridor, and joining other members of her cabinet in the front hallway, as the door was opened…and the Turkish Ambassador entered Number 10 Downing, amidst a hundred flashbulbs.

The sight practically blinded Mary. She knew she shouldn't be too surprised by the amount of reporters standing outside; after all, this was a story that had captured the country's heart and had gone viral across the internet. But she also knew that some of those cameras belonged to trashy tabloids that would love to catch Mr. Pemuk being the "bad boy" they all believed him to be.

"Mr. Pemuk?" Mary addressed, stepping forward and extending her hand to the gentleman who was removing his sunglasses and giving her a dazzling smile, the sort that would be seen in a commercial for whitening toothpaste. Indeed, his smile may have blinded her more than all those flashbulbs.

"Prime Minister," he said with a smile, accepting her hand to shake…but instead, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

Despite the gesture, Mary kept her façade calm and her smile reserved. After all, he wasn't English; he didn't need to observe their stereotypical "coldness". "It is an honor to be here," he said with a slight bow of his head. She nodded her own, and then removed her hand from his grasp. "Will you follow me? I know we have a great deal to talk about, so why don't we get started?"

He smiled and nodded his head. "After you, Prime Minister."

Mary led the way, but she hadn't gone but a few steps before Matthew suddenly appeared, looking somewhat haggard, as if he had to push his way through a crowd! Surely he hadn't…?

"Blimey!" he gasped, coming up to her side. "I thought the back entrance into the house would be safer, but the amount of reporters that have the entire place swamped is incredible!" He smoothed his hair back and turned his attentions to the handsome gentleman by Mary's side. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Pemuk, I'm Matthew Crawley…" he extended his hand to shake that of the ambassador's, but Mr. Pemuk simply lifted a dark brow in question.

"Mr. Crawley is my press secretary," Mary explained. "He will actually be joining us for a special meeting after our session with the cabinet, to go over tomorrow's press conference."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Pemuk smiled…yet Mary noticed how the man still refused to shake Matthew's hand.

Matthew quickly withdrew it. "Well…um…it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Pemuk, and I look forward to later, when we have the opportunity to prepare for tomorrow."

"Indeed," Mr. Pemuk murmured, before continuing to walk past him.

Mary frowned at this (one couldn't call it anything other than being rude, but then again, perhaps it was a cultural thing?) "Gwen!" Mary called, and her assistant quickly approached, having only paused a few feet behind them to check something on her Blackberry. "Would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Pemuk to the conference room where we will be conducting the meeting? And see if he would like anything? I'll be just two minutes."

"Of course, Prime Minister," Gwen smiled, and turned to lead Mr. Pemuk the rest of the way.

Mary sighed and turned back to Matthew, who was watching the ambassador follow Gwen. "What happened to you? Why on earth were you trying to get in through the back entrance?"

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. "I merely stepped outside to get a feeling for how big this entire event would be. It's not every day that a 'simple' talk with a foreign ambassador delivers this kind of attention from the press."

"Yes, but it's not every day that one of those ambassadors is a man as handsome or with the sort of reputation as Mr. Pemuk," she muttered under her breath.

Matthew continued gazing off into the distance of where Mr. Pemuk had gone. She couldn't help but wonder what he was finding so fascinating, and tried to turn her own head to see.

"Do you really think that?"

She was startled by the sudden question and turned back to look up at him. "What?"

"What you just said, about Mr. Pemuk being…'handsome'."

Oh Lord, it was tempting to laugh. But Mary restrained herself, and managed to put on a calm and only _slightly_ teasing smile. "Do I detect some 'jealousy', Mr. Crawley?"

It was meant to be a joke, but Matthew didn't look amused. In fact…he continued watching Mr. Pemuk's retreating figure. _What on earth…?_

"I shouldn't keep you…" he simply muttered, his eyes still locked on the distant figure, before turning to go.

Mary stood there, looking lost and confused. "Matthew?" But he was already gone. Surely he wasn't really jealous…and why would he be? It wasn't as if she had given him any indication that she…that she…

"Well," she coughed, clearing her throat and quickly smoothing her suit jacket once again, before walking rather briskly towards the conference room where her cabinet and the ambassador now awaited her. She would deal with Matthew and his strange behavior later.

* * *

"What we are asking of the British government is to merely show their support with whatever decision we do make, and therefore show the Syrians that they cannot pressure us or bully us into doing what they want us to do."

Mary was pacing at the far end of the conference room while Mr. Pemuk presented his reasons to the cabinet. The position he brought forth was one that a majority of her cabinet, including Mary, assumed would be the position of the Turkish government; simply to leave them to make the decision on their own, and to stand by whatever that decision would be, if it became necessary. Certainly if the government chose to let the two Syrian girls stay in Turkey, the Syrians would protest, however their threats may not be so loud if they knew that Britain was standing by Turkey. It was never a question of not standing by their allies, of course; the question was…should they, Britain, intervene with something that didn't really have anything to do with them?

"That's perfectly understandable, Ambassador," one of her cabinet members replied. "However…there is some worry amongst members of the British public about what will happen to the girls if your government chooses to deport them back to Syria?"

Mr. Pemuk chuckled then, and Mary found herself frowning. Something was funny?

"I find it amusing that the British people would care about something so trivial," he remarked. "But then I must remind myself that your press is very good about 'getting into other people's business'."

"Trivial?" the cabinet member gasped.

Another cabinet member rose to her feet. "We are talking about the lives of two women, sir; two women that will most likely be executed if they return to their country."

"Alright, let's calm down," Mary interrupted, trying to keep everyone from shouting their thoughts and opinions. "As you can see, Mr. Pemuk, this issue is one that many people, regardless as to whether it is 'their business or not', feel very passionate about."

He nodded his head and smiled up at her. "Yes, that goes against the stereotype, doesn't it?" he chuckled. "The British being 'passionate' people."

Oh good grief, they were never going to get anywhere with that sort of attitude. Was the man mad? Didn't he understand how to properly interact with people outside his culture? How did he manage to obtain this position?

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of Mrs. Hughes, who brought the tea tray. She didn't linger, of course, and the conversation only resumed until after she had gone. Matthew was standing outside, pacing the hallway. When the housekeeper emerged, he couldn't help but go up to her and ask how things seemed inside.

"I'm not sure," she answered, honestly. "The atmosphere doesn't seem very…friendly," she explained.

Matthew nodded his head; he was afraid of that. The second he had met Mr. Pemuk that afternoon…he didn't like him. No doubt Mary would look at it as a "bash of male egos" because the Turkish ambassador refused to shake his hand. But it wasn't that, well, _not entirely_ that at least. Something about Mr. Pemuk's attitude, the way he carried himself, the somewhat haughty air he had. He seemed to both despise and relish the attention that the tabloids gave him. And despite the position he held, there did not seem to be a professional bone in the man's body.

But what had truly set Matthew on edge that morning, was watching how Mr. Pemuk eyed Gwen, as she showed him to the conference room. The way the man purposefully walked behind her…as if by doing so, he could admire her…well, admire her profile "from behind". Had Gwen been aware of it? Mary certainly hadn't. And that bothered Matthew; it bothered him that she had referred to Mr. Pemuk as "handsome". Was that the man's secret? His charm? Did he use his charm and good looks to win favor with women, even when he objectified them? Perhaps that explained why he was always photographed with a different one.

"Forgive me, Mr. Crawley, I know I have no right in saying this," Mrs. Hughes muttered under her breath. "But…I frankly don't care for the gentleman."

Matthew nodded his head. "I completely understand," he whispered back.

No, he did not like Mr. Kamal Pemuk. If his lifestyle and the way he had objectified Gwen was any indication of the sort of man he was, Matthew couldn't help but wonder how he would view this case with the two Syrian girls? But he knew he would have to keep these thoughts and opinions to himself, and ever remain the professional for when he would later sit down with the man to discuss Thursday's press conference.

Oh God, the press conference. He was not looking forward to it, in all honesty. Unless otherwise told, he would be responsible for taking questions on behalf of the Prime Minister, and representing Number 10 Downing's stance…that is, unless of course, Mary wished to make those statements. But she hadn't indicated as such to him, at least not yet. If truth be told, she hadn't indicated to him where she stood, at all, on the whole matter. Whatever decision was made, he had a feeling she would stand by her cabinet, and try not to do anything too controversial. No, Mary was the sort of Prime Minister who wouldn't make rash decisions; she would want to appear very diplomatic, and would respect Mr. Pemuk's opinion, because of who he was and who he represented (despite his "after hours" actions). And Matthew sadly had the feeling that the stance that Number 10 Downing would take was one of "inaction", in the sense that they would not step forward and offer asylum to the Syrian girls, because such actions could be seen as "butting in", as well as "distrust" in how their allies would handle the situation in the end.

Yes, Matthew sided with the human rights groups on this matter; he felt the Syrian girls' best chance at freedom, happiness, and life was to find asylum in Britain. It was a popular opinion amongst the general public (who paid attention to these things when they weren't trying read the latest celeb gossip, or who shot who on _East Enders_), but not so much in the world of politics—and he doubted it was quite the opposite, in Mr. Pemuk's mind.

The cabinet meeting went on for a very long time. Matthew wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but the sky was dark by the time he heard movement on the other side. When the doors finally opened, Matthew rose to his feet and tried to offer a smile to those that exited the room. But it was hard to smile at such weary, war-torn faces. And no one was smiling—except, perhaps, Mr. Pemuk.

"Mr. Crawley?"

Matthew turned his attention then to Gwen, who had addressed him. "The Prime Minister will be joining you and Mr. Pemuk shortly. She asked that you wait for her in her office?"

Matthew couldn't help but look concerned. They were going to her office without her? "Is everything alright?"

Gwen put on a smile, but Matthew could tell it wasn't genuine. "The Prime Minister will be along, shortly."

Mr. Pemuk came into the hallway then, allowing Gwen the chance to shut the conference room door, leaving Mary, who Matthew could see was still in the room, but with her back turned and gazing out the window, some peace. _Lord, she looks as if she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders…_

As Gwen passed, Mr. Pemuk smiled at her and murmured something near her ear. She looked at him, giving him a polite smile, but judging from the way she was carrying herself, Matthew did not think that whatever the Turkish ambassador had said was entirely…welcome.

"She is lovely, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Pemuk murmured, turning to Matthew and giving him a slightly wolfish grin, before turning back to watch Gwen walk away...and blatantly admiring a certain portion of her anatomy. "I do love redheads."

Matthew felt his spine stiffen, but silently counted to three, then merely cleared his throat. "I believe the Prime Minister would like us to wait for her in her office; if you will follow me sir?"

Mr. Pemuk thankfully did not have to told twice, and followed Matthew in the direction of Mary's office. "I must say, I do find her charming…"

Matthew frowned. "Miss Dawson?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, your Prime Minister."

Matthew's spine stiffened a second time. While he did think that yes, Mary was charming, that would be a description for Mary Crawley, the person, not necessarily for the office of the Prime Minister. The compliment, quite frankly, sounded rather…demeaning, to Matthew's ears.

"Yes, very charming…" Mr. Pemuk continued.

It was taking everything Matthew had not to lash out at the man. "She also happens to be brilliant," he muttered between his teeth. "And a leader who can manage the conflicts between the parties, and tries to find resolution—"

"She is very beautiful too, wouldn't you agree?"

Matthew's hands were balling into fists. _Yes, she is very beautiful—and it would serve you well to cease this conversation at once!_ However, he was saved—or rather Mr. Pemuk was saved, by the sudden appearance of the Prime Minister. "Oh, you're both out here? Didn't Gwen tell you—"

"She did," Mr. Pemuk interrupted. "But Mr. Crawley and I were discussing how much I…" he paused to give Mary a smile that had Matthew's blood boiling. "…am looking forward to working with you on this, and many other matters between our two countries."

"Yes, well…" Mary put on a smile. "That would be very nice. Um, shall we?" she indicated for the two of them to enter her office. As Mr. Pemuk followed Mary inside, Matthew felt his blood pressure rise and his stomach sink further and further.

How was he going to manage standing beside this bastard tomorrow, with an air of public professionalism, (let alone sit here, with him now, during this meeting) when all he wanted to do was punch the git in the face?

* * *

Mary groaned and unbuttoned her suit jacket. She wanted nothing more than to take off her shoes, get into her pajamas, and curl up under the blankets of her bed with a cup of tea and any reading material that had little or nothing to do with politics. It was days like this one, where Mary found herself questioning her sister, wondering what it was that Sybil saw in her, to make her think that not only was politics a good career choice, but that she could manage something like running a country?

"You look tired, if you don't mind me saying…"

She looked up at Mr. Pemuk, who sat on a chair opposite of her. He was holding a brandy glass, swirling the contents gently, causing the ice in the glass to make a light "clinking" sound.

"I am, actually," she sighed, forcing a smile.

"I suppose I am to blame for that," he sighed too, but his smile did not look so forced. Rather, it looked quite…charming.

"I wasn't implying—"

"I know," he reassured. "But I also know that many members of your cabinet disagree with me," he looked down at the brandy in his hand. "However, I must say I am very impressed, that despite that pressure that you no doubt feel coming from them, that you are being very diplomatic and professional by respecting my decisions, which of course are those of my homeland."

Mary forced another smile, but looked down at her hands, which were folded together on her lap. "Thank you," she murmured, although it wasn't the sort of compliment she really wanted to be given.

"Still, I am sorry for the stress it has caused," he went on. "But you must understand, of course, that when it comes to these refugees, we must do what is best for us—surely as a leader, you can understand that?"

"Yes…" Mary whispered. The decision had been made. Britain would do its part in standing by the Turkish government as it decided the fate of the two girls, but they would not interfere. The last thing they wanted to do was make their allies appear "weak", according to Mr. Pemuk, which would be exactly what would happen (according to him) if they did.

"I must say…" he remarked, taking a sip from his glass. "Mr. Crawley has been away for some time…"

Mary looked up from her hands to meet Mr. Pemuk's gaze. "He said he would be back as soon as he finished making some phone calls to a few of the international networks—"

"Amazing, isn't it?" Mr. Pemuk remarked, with a bit of a chuckle.

Mary's brow furrowed at his question. "What is?"

"How much attention something like this has received?" he sighed, finishing his brandy.

"Human interest stories always grab a great deal of attention, especially around Christmas."

He chuckled at this. "Yes, I suppose you are right," he murmured, looking now at his empty glass.

Mary rose to her feet, pausing to kick off her heels. "Would you care for another brandy?"

He looked up at her and smiled. "Thank you, Prime Minister…that would be lovely."

She smiled and also removed her suit jacket. It was the end of a long day, and they were nearly finished with their meeting. Besides, the ambassador had removed his jacket and loosened his tie hours ago—why couldn't she do the same with her jacket and shoes? It wasn't as if she were inappropriately dressed.

She took his empty glass and moved over to the decanter which was sitting on a side table near one of the bookcases. She was just adding ice to the glass, when suddenly she felt two hands seize her hips. She gasped and was suddenly spun around, and with wide eyes she stared back into the dark eyes of the Turkish ambassador, who growled her name, before capturing her mouth in a very unexpected kiss.

Mary was stunned. At first, she didn't realize what was happening, it was that surprising! One second he was sitting in a chair, and the next…he was standing right behind her, turning her to face him, his hands gripping her waist, and now he was kissing her! If she weren't who she was, (and if this were ten years ago when she was a naïve university student) she may very well have been flattered by having such a handsome man kiss her. But she wasn't so naïve, not anymore—and she was the Prime Minister! And he was a foreign ambassador and had NO RIGHT to kiss her!

"Mr. Pemuk!" she gasped, her hands grabbing his shoulders and pushing him away.

"Kamal…" he purred, trying to kiss her again.

"Stop it!" she hissed, pushing him with greater force. "What has come over you? What do you think you are doing?"

"You're a beautiful woman, Mary—"

"I am the _Prime Minister_, sir!" she hissed, shoving him hard. "And you best remember that—"

"You're a woman who has urges," he growled, not taking "no" for an answer. "And I can promise that I will satisfy them all—"

Any other words he had been about to say were lost when she slapped him, hard, across the face.

"You would be wise to hold your tongue, and keep whatever words you were going to say to yourself," she hissed. "It would also do you good for you to keep your distance, and maintain a 'professional' air, as befitting a man of your station."

That charming smile he had been wearing earlier was completely gone now. Now, he looked murderous…and most insulted. As if he had anything to feel aggrieved for; he had been making unwanted advances upon HER!

The door opened then.

Both she and the Turkish ambassador turned their heads to find Matthew, standing there, staring at them…his eyes widening…and moving back and forth between the two of them. She could only imagine how it must look; Mr. Pemuk, while having released his hold on her hips and waist, was still standing precariously close—too close, and she still had one hand against his chest, in an effort to push him away, while the rest of her body was rigid, and leaning away from his. No, it would not take a great deal of imagination to guess what may have transpired.

However, Mary had not expected Matthew to react as he did.

He quickly shut the door…and without another word, launched himself at the Turkish ambassador!

"MATTHEW!" she gasped. But the two men were already wrestling each other to the ground, and Mary stood in shock and horror at the sight. "Matthew, STOP IT THIS AT ONCE!"

He didn't hear her. Or he was purposefully ignoring her. Either way, he tried to throw a punch into Mr. Pemuk's face, but the man was faster, and caught Matthew's fist, wrestling him onto his back, while Matthew tried to push the other man off.

"STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!" Good God, would she have to shout? Her bodyguards were just outside, and if she screamed she knew they would come running. However, so would any other staff members still outside, and who knows what they would say? Matthew had just rolled Mr. Pemuk onto his back, and was now straddling the ambassador, holding the man by the collar of his shirt, while lifting his right fist in the air, ready to smash it against the other man's face. Mary launched herself at Matthew, grabbing his fist in both hands, and pulling him back with all her strength. "I SAID STOP IT!"

Matthew turned and gaped at her, giving Mr. Pemuk enough time to scramble away. He quickly leapt to his feet and backed away to the other side of the office, panting and watching Matthew with narrowed eyes. "You keep that mad man away from me!" he hissed.

"PIPE DOWN!" Mary hissed back, before turning and looking at Matthew, her eyes boring into his, begging him to calm down and leave the situation as it was. "Everything is fine…" she said in a low, even voice to him. "A misunderstanding arose…but I took care of it, and Mr. Pemuk understands now, don't you?" she growled, her eyes meeting those of the ambassador's across the room.

Mr. Pemuk muttered something that Mary didn't quite understand, but a grunt from him confirmed that "yes", he did understand, at least enough to go with whatever she was saying.

"I think we have said everything that needs to be said," Mary remarked in as calm a tone as she could give. "Wouldn't you agree, ambassador?"

"Yes," he muttered, putting on his jacket and smoothing his hair.

"Good," Mary replied, her eyes still on Matthew, her hands never releasing his right fist, which had been lowered to his side, but still remained clenched. "Then I bid you goodnight, Mr. Pemuk. We shall see you tomorrow at the press conference."

Mr. Pemuk muttered something, but gave a nod of his head, and without a last look back, turned and left the office, the door banging in his wake. Only then…did Mary let go of Matthew's arm.

"WHAT DID HE DO—"

"Lower your voice!"

Matthew was now the one who looked murderous, and he looked as if he were ready to burst through the doors and pummel the Turkish ambassador before he stepped foot from the house.

"I'm fine," Mary reassured. "As I said, I have and had everything under control—"

"He tried to touch you, didn't he?" Matthew growled.

"Matthew, please—"

"That slimy bastard is nothing but a womanizing pervert!"

"MATTHEW!"

"I shouldn't have left you alone with him; oh God, Mary, I'm so sorry—"

"MR. CRAWLEY!"

Matthew stared at her, and Mary felt her heart break just a little at the pained expression he wore from how harshly…and how coldly she had just spoken his name. But she had to; he was forgetting himself. And so had she. She had forgotten herself—and had been, for the past few weeks.

"You can't do that…" she groaned, stepping away from him and walking back to her desk, to retrieve her shoes and suit jacket. "You can't…start fights with foreign ambassadors in Number 10 Downing, you just can't!" she hated herself for having to chastise him like this, but it needed to be said. "What if someone had come in and saw this? What a delicious story to share with the tabloids! 'Kamal Pemuk caught in a fist fight in the Prime Minister's office with her own cousin'! Lord, how would that affect our foreign relations? This administration would become the laughing stock of international politics!" she groaned and shook her head, before putting on her jacket and quickly buttoning it up once more. "I appreciate the gesture, but…this isn't some ITV costume drama! Where you slap someone across the face and expect them to meet you at dawn with pistols for two! I don't need a man coming to my defense; I can handle myself and _did_ handle myself!"

Silence filled the office. Mary stood there, smoothing the wrinkles out of her jacket, trying to stand tall and look every bit the part she had been elected to play, rather than the preverbal "damsel in distress".

"I apologize, Prime Minister," Matthew finally murmured, taking several steps away from her and clasping his hands behind his back, swallowing and looking away.

Mary sighed and swallowed the lump that was in her throat, too. She could feel the harsh sting of tears, and her vision began to blur just slightly, but she gave a quick sniff and told any tears she was feeling to more or less "bugger off".

"I will go," he whispered, straightening his own jacket and tie, as well as smoothing his own hair, before gathering his things and turning to towards the door. "I will see you at tomorrow's press conference."

"Good, good," Mary murmured. Like him, she too was avoiding his gaze. "In fact…I think it would be best if I speak tomorrow, instead."

There was another brief pause, before he spoke. "Very good, ma'am. Goodnight, Prime Minister."

She lifted her eyes then, but only held his gaze briefly before looking away. "Goodnight, Mr. Crawley."

She kept her gaze fixed elsewhere in the room…until she heard the distinct sound of the office door click shut. Only then, did she allow herself to collapse in her chair…and for the stinging tears to flow freely.

* * *

Despite the events of the previous night, Thursday morning arrived bright and sunny and with somewhat unusual warm air for that time of December. The press room was filled to the brim with several major news outlets from across the country, as well as several major international networks. When he arrived that morning to Number 10, a large crowd had gathered outside, holding signs depicting the Syrian girls, with words above that said "Don't Kill True Love", and "This Holiday Season, Give the Gift of Life and Freedom", and other such phrases, calling for Britain to take a stand and step in.

Matthew worked his way through the demonstrators, and finally given clearance to enter the house. He had hardly slept a wink last night; if he wasn't shaking with rage at the thought of Mr. Pemuk taking liberties with Mary, he was chastising himself for letting himself forget who he was, who he worked for and represented…and then he remembered the words she had said, and how she had spoken to him. And how much his heart broke at hearing her talk to him like that.

He honestly wasn't sure what the greater challenge would be that morning; standing beside Mr. Pemuk and speaking to the press without giving in to the urge to punch the git…or seeing her. Well, he would know very shortly.

Gwen and other members of the cabinet were standing nearby, off to the side, waiting for the press conference to begin. Matthew took his place by a podium marked with a Union Jack, and everyone in the room quickly rose to their feet…and Mary entered, followed by Mr. Pemuk. Thankfully, the man was being wise, and keeping his eyes off Mary's body.

Applause was given around the room by the staff, and reporters were asking questions while cameras either filmed or took pictures. Both Mary and Mr. Pemuk smiled and waved, before approaching the podiums. Mary met his gaze then, and Matthew straightened himself up, lifted his chin and gave a polite nod of the head, murmuring, "Prime Minister". She nodded her head in return, and took to the podium where he had been standing, while Mr. Pemuk (not meeting his gaze) took to the one next to her.

"Prime Minister! Ambassador!" several reporters raised their hands, eager to have their questions answered first. Matthew nodded at one of the reporters he knew quite well for BBC 1, and the man stood to ask the first question.

"Ambassador, are you pleased with the support Number 10 Downing has given you?"

Mr. Pemuk smiled that famous smile of his. "Of course," he answered. "I am very pleased. One of the things that makes a nation like Great Britain so great is its support to her allies, and its respect to their decisions. Your Prime Minister certainly seems to understand that."

"Prime Minister! Prime Minister! Care to comment?" several other reporters cried out.

Mary lifted a hand to calm the room slightly, and everyone was leaning close to catch whatever it was she was going to say. She opened her mouth…and then paused. Matthew frowned a little at this. Was something wrong? She straightened herself a little…swallowed…looked at Mr. Pemuk for a moment, then back down at the podium. In the short time he had worked with her, Matthew had never seen Mary "freeze up" before the press before. He was tempted to step in and take over, but held himself back, not wanting her to think he thought less of her, because he knew she could handle anything, she had proven that so many times before.

She finally lifted her head…and gave a small smile to the crowd gathered. "I agree with Mr. Pemuk—about Britain being a great nation," she began. "Mr. Pemuk says we are great because we support our allies, and respect their wishes. Personally, I think what makes us great is acknowledging our shortcomings, seeing our mistakes, and trying to make wrongs right. William Wilberforce knew this to be true, and fought against the slave trade in Britain, seeing the passing of the Slave Trade Act in 1807. And our government knew this to be true, when only a few years after the end of the Second World War, created the National Health Service, a system revered by other nations around the world, for providing health care to all citizens in need. And Peter Benenson understood this, when he wrote his article, _The Forgotten Prisoners_ in 1961…giving birth to Amnesty International…a movement that has been very passionate with this case, as it is with anything dealing with human rights…" she paused, and everyone in the room was staring at her, including Mr. Pemuk.

A smile began to spread across Matthew's face…and his heart began to swell, too.

"These are the things that I think make us a great nation," she continued. "And while, indeed, we support and respect our allies…we would do a great wrong, if we did not take a stand in this issue. Therefore, I announce to you this morning that we are opening our arms to these two women, who have been labeled as refugees by some and fugitives by their homeland, but who I simply see as a loving couple…who want nothing more but the freedom to love who they love…and the safety to know that they can do that without fear. This will also relieve some of the political burden from our ally's shoulders, as well as, I think, show great support to them. Because no one should be bullied...be they two women…or an entire nation. And so long as I am Prime Minister…" she met Mr. Pemuk's eyes, before turning back to the crowd. "…we will respond to such messages with nothing but strength, reason, and the courage to do what is right. For truly, that is what makes any nation great."

The room erupted then, reporters leaping to their feet, thrusting microphones and tape recorders forward, demanding different questions from both Mary and a stunned Mr. Pemuk. Matthew, standing just to the side, began clapping, along with several others. He glanced over at Gwen and the cabinet members, seeing huge smiles on all their faces as they clapped loudly, beaming with pride and admiration at their courageous leader. And Matthew looked at Mary with the same expression, his heart overflowing with pride…as well as something else.

* * *

"I beg your pardon, Prime Minister," Mrs. Hughes murmured, pulling Mary away from the reporter she had just finished speaking to. "But there's an urgent lady on the telephone…says she's the American ambassador?"

Mary's brow furrowed at this. She moved to closest telephone and answered right away.

"Darling, what happened?" gasped the voice on the other end.

Mary groaned and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but grin. "Mama, how many times have I told you, don't call here pretending to be the American ambassador!"

"Well it's the only way I can get through!"

"You're just lucky that the housekeeper picked up the phone and not Gwen or someone else who has had to deal with you," she muttered playfully.

"Do you know what I was doing this morning? I was in the school auditorium, running the children through rehearsal, when one of the other teachers came running into the room, and told me I had to stop what I was doing and turn on a television set or hop onto the BBC's website to catch a live stream of what was going on!"

Mary laughed. "Yes, well, sorry to interrupt your school day."

"Oh never mind that!" her mother groaned. "I just couldn't believe my ears! I saw people cheering in the streets, holding signs about those two Syrian girls, before bursting into applause for their Prime Minister, before following it by bursting out and singing _Amazing Grace_, while a few others chanted, 'Wilberforce, Benenson, Crawley!' over and over!"

"Oh God, was that what they were saying?" Mary gasped. "I couldn't understand it from inside the building!"

"Darling, do you realize that you've become a hero? That people are hailing you as 'The Prime Minister of Justice and Love'?"

Mary blushed at these words. "I was only doing what any decent person would try to do. And who knows," she groaned. "They may be shouting something very different tomorrow about my name, if my actions start a third world war."

"Oh darling, don't be silly—"

"Mama, as lovely as it is to chat with you, I really must be going…Gwen is signaling for me to go…yes, I believe _the_ _real_ American ambassador is on the other line—"

"No they aren't—"

"I'll call you back!"

"No you won't—"

Cora sighed as she heard the other end hang up. She put her phone down and shook her head, laughing and grinning like an idiot, just as she had done earlier when she first learned the news. "Extraordinary…" she sighed, turning away from the phone and returning to the table where she had been sitting earlier.

"What is?"

She glanced up at her husband who was sitting on a nearby sofa, reading the evening newspaper. "Oh Robert, our daughter of course!"

"Which one?"

She threw a roll of paper towels at him. "ALL of them," she said with a poke of her tongue. She then began to smile at this. "Yes, all of them," she repeated. "Sybil is a best-selling author, Edith has just gotten married and runs that very successful gardening business of hers, and our eldest is Prime Minister."

Robert lowered his paper and met Cora's eyes. "Yes, it's not often a parent can boast something like that…" he returned to the paper. "I mean, how many can say that one of their daughters runs a successful gardening business?"

"Oh you," Cora groaned, reaching over as if to swat his leg, which was just out of reach. Robert chuckled. "I think we've done rather well, as parents go, Robert."

"Yes, I think we can agree with that," he murmured, looking up once more from his paper and smiling.

"Our eldest took a stand today, a stand that would make even her youngest and very liberal sister proud, fighting for two women in the name of justice, liberty, and love…and what did I do today?"

"Ruined our table with glue and orange tissue paper?"

Cora laughed. "Yes, I'm afraid it does look like that, doesn't it?"

Robert frowned and rose from the sofa. "What exactly are you…?"

"Lobster heads," Cora sighed. "For the nativity play. I have made seven, orange, papier-mâché lobster heads, of varying sizes…while my daughters charge forth, to change the world and make it a better place for all people."

He smiled and came over to where Cora sat, his hands moving to her shoulders to rub them. "You charge forth in your own way, my dear."

She smiled up at him, grateful for the words and for the massage. "Yes, well, who knew that it would have been this sticky?" she sighed, trying to wipe some of the glue from her hands. "Darling, could you turn the tape over? I think it's stopped."

Robert groaned and walked across the room where their old cassette player lay. The machine was ancient, made some time back in the late '70's. It had belonged to Cora, and had been one of the few things she insisted bringing with her from America. "I don't understand why you don't simply put the songs from this blasted tape onto the Ipod," he muttered, turning the tape over to the other side.

"My mother made me that mix tape," Cora retorted.

Robert rolled his eyes; he had heard this story many, many times (and always after he complained about having to switch the tape when it stopped). "Yes, I know; she made it for you when you first came to Britain; all the songs were to remind you of the things you loved back in Cincinnati, to help you if you ever felt homesick."

"Of course, she didn't know that I would meet a very charming Englishman during my first semester at Cambridge, to help take my mind off being homesick," she grinned up at him. "But that mix tape did help too; and it's not about the convenience of making a playlist, Robert. A mix tape is a sign of love; even more so than making an mp3 playlist or burning a CD. It takes a great many painstaking hours to compile songs and record them, one by one, onto a tape. The love is quite obvious in the labor that was put forth, as well as the thought behind each song. That's why girls coveted mixed tapes given to them by the boys they liked ten times over some piece of jewelry."

"Really? So you mean I didn't have to give you that diamond when I proposed to you, a simple mix tape would have sufficed enough?"

She poked her tongue out and he chuckled, before returning to his seat on the sofa. "Well, if that's true, about the love being in the labor, then your students have no idea how much you must love them," he sighed, gesturing to the gluey, orange mess on their dining room table.

Cora laughed. "Can you imagine your mother's face if she caught me doing this at Downton?"

Robert literally trembled at the thought.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	9. 3 Weeks to Christmas (part III)

_Ok, it's a long one! But I couldn't help it, there was so much I wanted to cover in this chapter. Also, with the exception of one scene, this chapter is mainly of my own original creation, meaning all of the scenes but one have no comparison to the movie. So hopefully I did a decent job! _

_HEY Carson/Hughes fans! THIS IS YOUR CHAPTER! :oD Plus, I want to apologize for a certain song that Mary dances to in this chapter ;o) I blame Peachdreamsandperseus and Gothamgirl28 :oP_

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

**3 Weeks to Christmas (part III)**

Robert was in his office when the mobile rang. He recognized Cora's number and answered. "Yes?"

"Did you hire Ivy's to cater the office Christmas party?"

Robert winced. His wife did not sound pleased. If truth be told, she sounded quite cross. "I did…?"

Cora groaned. "Robert…I told you _I_ was going to hire Ivy's!"

Robert's brow furrowed with confusion. "Whatever for?"

"For the school's pageant of course!" Cora hissed. "Don't you remember? I mentioned to you last week how I wanted to try and get her to cater the treats for the reception that would follow the pageant!"

Robert winced again at her shrill tone. He had no memory of this conversation. "I thought the parents always brought the treats?"

"Not after last year's debacle! Don't you remember? Someone made a custard tart with spoiled eggs and expired milk, and a majority of the children, plus half the faculty, spent Christmas morning with their heads down a toilet?"

Robert made a face at the description. Cora didn't like custard, which no doubt had been her saving grace from facing such a horrible and disgusting fate.

"Now I'm going to have to find another caterer," she groaned, the stress in her voice sounding worse than it had the other day, when she was trying to salvage six of her seven papier-mâché lobster heads from sticking to the table, after attempting to lift one, and finding it stuck…and nearly shredding it to pieces in an effort to release it.

"I'm sorry, darling, truly—"

"Oh, never mind…" Cora sighed, although it was clear from the sound of her voice that she did sound very annoyed. She hung up then without another word, and Robert groaned, knowing he would be getting another earful later, if she was unsuccessful in finding a caterer. Yes, he had a feeling he was going to be in the preverbal "dog house" for a while.

He truly could not remember her telling him she wanted to contact Ivy's! Had he known, he wouldn't have given the information to Jane…but then the problem would be on someone else, and Jane would be the one trying to find someone to cater the office Christmas party at the last minute. And…in all honesty, that would be a much harder problem to solve. After all, the school's reception would be a simple affair; some biscuits, perhaps a tart or two, that sort of thing. Nothing as extensive as hors d'oeuvres, sandwiches, and a variety of pies and cakes!

But he would never say this to Cora, of course. He wasn't that stupid.

"Anything wrong?"

Robert lifted his head and swallowed the lump in his throat at the sight of Jane, leaning in and looking at him with sympathetic eyes. How long had she been there? Had she knocked? He didn't recall hearing her knock…

"No, no, everything's fine," he muttered quickly, putting on a smile and praying he didn't look like an idiot.

She giggled then, and that sleigh bell sound filled the air. "Good," she murmured. "Well, remember…if you ever need anything…I'm always here."

The lump in his throat felt very large, and he found it even more difficult to swallow. She shut the door and Robert groaned, a part of him wanting to smash his head against the surface of his desk. The only reason he didn't was because he was afraid he would give himself a concussion, and Jane would return and try to revive him with mouth to mouth resuscitation!

And heaven help him then...

* * *

Elsie moved quickly through the city streets; the wind had picked up and it was quite frigid. She clutched the collar of her coat closer to her throat and practically bounced on the balls of her heels to keep the blood flowing and circulating so as not to freeze. It was her afternoon off, a chance for her to do some Christmas shopping, but Beryl had rung her and reminded her that she had promised to come by the hotel at some point before the holiday. Elsie groaned at the reminder, knowing her friend was well up to something, but she didn't have a good excuse to put the meeting off, and she was already outside, braving the cold—besides, Beryl promised her a free treat from _The Edwardian's_ kitchens; how could she refuse now?

The traffic signal changed and Elsie quickly crossed the street, moving fast up the hotel's stone steps, thanking the poor doorman who was wrapped up in a great black wool coat as he braved the cold to open the door for her. "Oh thank goodness," she moaned, stepping inside the grand warmth of the beautiful, historical hotel.

She had never been inside _The Edwardian_, but she had seen pictures of the place in many a London guidebook. To say that the hotel was exquisite would be an understatement. She gasped as she looked above at the beautiful crystal chandeliers that hung high over the lobby. The floors were a polished, golden marble, and everywhere Elsie turned, there were signs of Christmas, from the ornate greenery that hung along the walls, to the decorated ferns that adorned each corner of the room, to the magnificent gingerbread miniature replica of Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, that stood just off to the side, inviting guests to move further into _The Edwardian's_ luxurious surroundings.

"May I help you?"

Elsie jumped just slightly at the rather deep voice that spoke to her. She turned then and looked up at a tall, broad-shouldered man who had one of those faces that looked capable of being very, very stern…but at the same time, also very kind.

His face looked rather kind to her, right now.

"Oh, yes, I'm meeting a friend…" she explained. "She works here; Beryl Patmore?"

"Ah!" the gentleman smiled. "Our esteemed chef!"

Elsie smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, that's right."

"Well, it would be my best guess that Mrs. Patmore is in the kitchens right now. But I will be more than happy to let her know that you are here—did you have an appointment?"

"Oh!" Elsie bit her lip. Was she supposed to set one up? She hadn't told Beryl when she would be by, just…at some point that afternoon. Beryl muttered that it didn't matter, so long as she did come. "I'm afraid I don't, Mister…?"

"Carson, ma'am," he gave a slight bow of his head. "I am the concierge."

"Oh, very pleased to meet you, Mr. Carson," Elsie smiled. "Elsie Hughes."

She offered her hand for him to shake, and he looked a little surprised. Was the gentleman that old fashioned? However, much to her relief, he did take it and gave it a small shake, before releasing it right away.

…For some reason, Elsie felt her face flush.

"Well, I shall go and inform Mrs. Patmore of your presence," he murmured, before turning quickly and disappearing around a corner, pasted the gingerbread display.

_He seems like a nice man_, Elsie thought to herself. _Rigid, but nice_. She couldn't help but chuckle to herself as she remembered Beryl's insistence that she meet other people. Well, now she could assure her friend that she had.

She sat in the lobby for a few minutes, smiling as she listened to the lovely sounds of Christmas carols being played by a pianist somewhere in the direction the concierge had gone, and feeling her mouth water at the intoxicating scents that were floating from _The Edwardian's_ kitchens. Oh Lord, she prayed that that treat Beryl had promised her was among those scents!

The sound of a man clearing his throat brought Elsie back to the present, and she looked up from her chair, and smiled up at the concierge who had returned. However, that smile quickly faded as she noticed his expression was rather…grim.

"I do beg your pardon, um…Mrs. Hughes?"

She nodded her head.

His expression seemed to become grimmer. "I do beg your pardon, but…it appears that Mrs. Patmore has…stepped out."

"Stepped out?" Elsie questioned, rising to her feet.

The concierge nodded his head. "I'm afraid so. I just had a word with her sous-chef, and she wasn't sure when, exactly, Mrs. Patmore would return."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Elsie groaned, turning her gaze to the grand door she had stepped through, and looking at all the poor souls who were bundled up and hurrying down the street, trying to keep warm. "She's rung me today, reminding me that I had promised to visit sometime soon, and so here I am…and of all the rotten luck…" her Scottish accent was growing thicker and thicker with each word; it always became more and more pronounced when she was angry or frustrated.

"I do apologize, Mrs. Hughes," the gentleman murmured. "Shall I leave a message?"

She opened her mouth, wanting to tell Mr. Carson exactly what she wanted to say to Beryl…but stopped herself in time. No need to embarrass the man, who looked deeply upset by her disappointment (_no doubt because it's his duty to please guests_, she thought), not to mention she didn't want to shock the gentleman; if she could shock him by simply offering her hand to shake, who knows what several choice words would do to the poor man?

"No…I will ring her later, thank you," she sighed. She turned and began to walk towards the door, dreading the moment when she would step outside into the bitter cold once again. _And I had so been looking forward to perhaps a hot glass of mulled cider! _She buttoned up her coat and clutched her collar close to her throat. She paused just before the door, and the doorman looked ready to open it and let her outside…when she paused.

"No."

She turned and met the concierge's eyes. He looked a little surprised to see her turn around.

"I came all the way over here to see her, braving that harsh weather, so…I will simply wait until she arrives," she explained to Mr. Carson. "I don't suppose there would be a problem if I sat down in your restaurant or café?" she smiled…then it quickly faded. "Oh…this is the sort of place where I probably need a reservation, isn't it?"

Mr. Carson shook his head. "We can seat you in the café, no reservation required," he murmured with that kind smile he had greeted her with. Elsie returned the smile, and despite her frustrations, began to feel at ease once again.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"If you will follow me, Mrs. Hughes, I will gladly show you to your table."

"Oh!" Elsie gasped, smiling a little more, and feeling her cheeks flush once again. "That isn't necessary, surely; I mean, as concierge you surely have more important duties—"

"No duty is more important than seeing to the comfort and care of a guest."

For some reason, this caused Elsie to blush even more. "Well, I don't know if you could call me a guest, Mr. Carson. Especially since my friend isn't here to receive me."

Now it was his turn to surprise her, when he offered her his arm. "Then ma'am, you shall be _my_ guest."

* * *

She recognized the sound of his car by now.

Sybil paused her typing and smiled as she heard the engine turn off, and listened to the sound of his feet crunch on the gravel drive just outside the cottage. She grinned and quickly rose to her feet with the aid of her crutches, pausing to wipe any crisp or biscuit crumbs from her blouse, before hobbling towards the door.

Even though Tom had a key, and even though Sybil had more or less given him full permission to enter the cottage after the night he "came to her rescue" from freezing to death, he still knocked to announce his presence.

"Come in!" Sybil called, smiling and yes, even blushing a little, as Tom Branson pushed his way through the door, carrying two heavy looking grocery sacks in his arms.

"They were all out of Prawn Cocktail crisps," he announced as he entered. "Hope you don't mind good, old-fashioned Salt and Vinegar?"

Sybil made a face, but it was more for show. "The village shop is lovely, but I can't deny, there are times I miss my Tescos," she sighed with a shrug of her shoulders.

Tom laughed. "And here I thought you were a Marks & Spencer's girl?" He placed the sacks down on the small kitchen counter and turned to her and frowned. "You don't need to get up every time I pop by; you're supposed to be resting that foot of yours," he playfully scolded, although Sybil could tell that there was also some genuine concern in his voice. She couldn't deny that it made her heart thump a little more erratically.

"It's good to get some exercise," she argued, before hobbling over to the counter top and looking through the bags.

"With the exception of your crisps, I was able to get everything on your list—hey, stop that!" Tom scolded as she attempted to take an item out and put it away.

"What?" Sybil asked, giving him a challenging look. "Am I not allowed to put my own groceries away?"

"Not while you're still in that cast," he argued, pointing to her foot.

Sybil groaned and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I'm not an invalid! You are aware that I do manage quite well on my own, after you leave?" Although she hated those moments—him leaving.

Ever since the night he came to fix her heating, Sybil had struck up an odd friendship with Mr. Branson. The evening that followed, he rang her to make sure that the heat was still working and not causing her any further problems. Even after she assured him that everything seemed to be fine, he carefully asked if he could have one more look, just to be safe and for his own peace of mind, especially after learning on the radio that a harsh cold front was moving through the area. He popped by and lingered in the utility closet, while she (for once not dressed in her pajamas) nibbled on her bottom lip and finally managed to strike up the nerve to invite him to stay for dinner. It was nothing fancy, just some macaroni and cheese, still…he accepted her invitation, and the two of them spent the evening talking about the strangest things, from the silly—like who their favorite Doctor was (Sybil was partial to 10, whereas Tom, while liking 11, wanted to know when there would be an Irish Doctor), to the serious—like discussing the case involving the two Syrian girls (and this had been before the resolution was reached). That was when Sybil confessed to Tom that her sister was in fact the Prime Minister…and Tom stared at her with wide eyes, before slapping his hand to his forehead and muttering, _"I can't believe I didn't make the connection! Of course, you're both named 'Crawley'!"_ She was glad the information hadn't frightened him or intimidated him from returning…not that she was expecting _anything_ to happen, of course…

After that night, Tom seemed to find…excuses, to ring her or pop by. Not that she minded, of course. What woman would? And to think it all began because of faulty heating? _"I'll never forgive myself if my aunt returns to find you frozen in that bed," _he had softly teased that first night. Sybil doubted it would be possible to freeze, no matter how cold it became, with the thought of Tom Branson and the word "bed".

Yes, she finally gave in and admitted to herself that she was lusting after Tom Branson. However, the excuse she made for herself in thinking this was it was simply her brain's way of trying to "heal itself" after her horrible break-up with Larry. Her heart had nothing to do with it…despite the way it seemed to leap and throb whenever he was near. Lust she could blush and shrug away. That other word that began with the letter "L"…well, that was downright terrifying.

"I know you're a strong, fully capable woman," Tom defended, bringing her mind back to the present. "But…indulge me this once?"

Oh God, he was actually giving her a lip pout! It was all being done in good humor of course…but did the man know how tempting he made his lips appear when he did that? _Oh why can't I be one of those women who can simply engage in casual sex without bringing their hearts into it?_ "Fine," she muttered, sitting down upon a nearby stool, and watching him put her groceries away, all the while grinning because he had won this battle. While he worked, she noticed that there was a small, plastic bag, also laid down atop the counter. Had he brought that in with him as well? He must have, as she didn't recall seeing it before. She assumed it was more groceries, so she reached into the bag to see what it contained…and gasped upon finding some very non-grocery items inside.

Tom heard her gasp and turned his head to see why…and immediately his face went pale…before turning a bright shade of red, perhaps redder than she had turned, the first day she had met him while in her reindeer/snowmen pajamas.

"I…I…I can explain…" he stammered, bashfully.

Sybil pulled out the three paperbacks and looked at him with an arched eyebrow. "My books?"

He winced, and looked even more embarrassed than before. Sybil couldn't help but giggle a little at the adorable way he looked. _Do I have a fanboy?_ She felt her ego swell at the thought…as well as her heart.

"I…" he began and then stopped to run a hand through his hair. "I…you see, they had a copy of…of one of your _Inspector Findlay_ books in the lounge of the inn where I'm staying," he sheepishly explained. "And…and after I learned who you were, I…I was curious, so I picked the book up after I got back that evening, and…well, I confess, I couldn't put it down!"

Even though Sybil had been fully prepared to tease poor Tom, she felt a deep warmth spread all over, and now she was the one blushing deeply again.

"So anyway, I finished it in that one sitting—"

"One sitting?" Sybil gasped, her face growing redder by the second. She thought she was decent, but surely her writing wasn't _that_ good?

Tom gave a somewhat bashful grin and nodded his head. "That's right," he mumbled. "And…well, it was the third book in the _Inspector Findlay_ series, so I wanted to read the first two, and they had them at the shops, plus the fourth book, and…" his voice trailed off and he nervously ran a hand through his hair. "Am I being creepy? Is this creepy?"

Sybil couldn't help but laugh at his questions, and quickly shook her head. "No, no, I um…if anything, it's all just…very humbling, to be honest," she whispered, looking down at the books before her. A goofy thought popped into her head then. "Would you like me to autograph them for you?"

She had meant it as a joke; a little way to take a stab at herself. However, his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, and Sybil felt a million butterflies flutter and soar in her stomach at the way his smile spread across his handsome face. But his expression changed, suddenly, and he took a step back, looking rather embarrassed. "No, no, you don't need to do that," he muttered under his breath, before quickly returning to the task of putting the groceries away.

"I don't mind, truly!" Sybil felt the need to reassure. "I…I wasn't making fun, I mean, well I wasn't trying to embarrass you, I truly would be honored if…if you would like me to sign my books for you…" now she was the one feeling embarrassed. In the short time she had met Tom Branson, a million different emotions seemed to be sweeping through her, and Sybil found that she could go from feeling intense lust for the Irishman's body, to the deepest embarrassment for her odd behavior, to those moments where she held her breath as he looked at her or spoke to her that caused her heart to flutter, to feeling lost and afraid, because…because she wasn't sure how to behave around him, exactly.

But no matter the conflicting emotions that were causing both her head and heart to spin in circles, Sybil did know one thing for certain. She liked him; she liked him very much.

"No, please, you don't need to explain yourself," he reassured, his gaze meeting hers once again. "I…I just didn't want you to feel like I was over-stepping my boundaries; I mean, I know you came here to escape all those pressures—"

"I'm not that kind of author," Sybil reassured with a bit of a laugh.

Tom lifted a brow at this. "You mean you don't have at least half a dozen fans knocking at your door when you wake up in the morning?"

"Exactly," Sybil laughed. "In all honesty, I can't remember the last time I had a…well, a 'fan' so to speak. I've attended book signings, certainly, but…I think it's been months since I received any sort of 'fan mail'—and usually then it's by people requesting that the name of their ex appear as the murder victim in the next book."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at this, and Sybil grinned, loving the sound. She once thought it was because of his accent (there was something very warm and sexy about an Irish accent) but she was quickly coming to realize that it was more…_him_, than anything else.

"Well…I may be late to the party, but…I would like to be considered one your fans," he murmured, his gaze holding hers, the green in his blue eyes practically glowing.

A shiver moved down Sybil's spine, and she suddenly wished she had a cup of something to hide her face behind. _I don't need scores of fans if I have you_, she wanted to say. _That's all the fan a person ever needs..._

"Well!" she smiled and reached for the books and a pen. "Duty calls!" she hoped her joke would hide her bashfulness. As she went to work scribbling her name…and trying to think of an appropriate message to put in the book, she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes and murmured, "you know, this hardly seems fair…"

"Fair?"

She nodded her head. "Well, you've read my work…but I haven't had the chance to read yours…"

Tom seemed to be momentarily stunned by her statement. "Oh! I um…" he looked very embarrassed then and Sybil bit her lip. Oh Lord, what had she done now? "Sorry, I…beggin' your pardon, but…I thought you had only said that the other night out of politeness…"

She had, in a manner of speaking. She had said what she had said out of politeness, and she had a feeling that if she were still in London, and a handsome man had told her he had a manuscript that he would like her to read to offer any insights on, she would put on a smile and say "of course", without really putting much thought or heart into it.

But when Tom had told her about his work…and warned her that it was duller than paint drying…something inside her wanted to read it more than ever. She liked history, and she did have a love for politics, still, even though she had thrust many of her beliefs onto her sister. But perhaps it was the fact that he, like her in many ways, had demeaned his work (something she was guilty of doing a little too much recently), and she had a longing to prove him wrong, that despite the daunting subject matter, his dissertation would be a far cry from "dull". And maybe it was the way he spun his words? She had a feeling she would be able to hear his voice, so clearly, if she sat and read what he had written.

"Well, I'm happy to prove you wrong," she said with a smile as she scribbled a little note inside one of his books. "I am very much looking forward to reading your work…that is, of course, if you still wish for me to; I don't mean to bully—"

"No! No, no, in fact I could perhaps use a little bullying on the subject," he confessed. "As you had said that night, it would be good to get an 'outsider's' perspective; someone who isn't in the field."

She nodded her head. "And an Englishwoman on top of that."

He laughed and she felt her insides melt once more. She doubted she could ever tire of hearing that sound.

"Well…I should go and give you some peace," he sighed, putting the last of her groceries away. "But…thank you again, for your willingness to read my work."

She nibbled on her bottom lip. "When do you think you will drop it off?"

He leaned forward then, and Sybil swallowed the lump in her throat…as Tom picked up the books she had just signed. "When would be best for you?"

"Tonight?"

He lifted his brows in pleasant surprise, and Sybil mentally kicked herself for the desperateness that was surely obvious in her voice. "Tonight?" he repeated.

No sense in backing out of it now. "Yes," she answered, desperately trying to keep the girlish squeak out of her voice. "Why don't you come back later this evening; I'll cook you some of that pasta you were kind enough to get me—"

"Or we could get some food at the pub?"

Her eyes grew wide. "The pub?"

Tom grinned. "The pub that's below the inn where I'm staying; they have some great food. Best shepherd's pie I've ever tasted, and it's even better with a pint of Guinness."

Sybil bit her lip, and looked down at her hands. "That does sound good…" she whispered. She wasn't much of a cook, and the idea of going someplace and having a hot meal sounded very appealing. "Oh, but I can't..." she looked down at her cast and frowned.

Tom looked at her cast, but simply shrugged his shoulders. "Not a problem; I'll come back and pick you up."

She frowned a little at this. "Doesn't that seem a little…excessive? I mean, driving back and forth—"

Her protests died with his rich laughter. "The village is only ten minutes away; I don't think that's overly excessive. Besides…I was charged to play 'chauffeur' for you, _milady_," he added for humor. "And if you don't mind me saying so…I think it would be good to get out of this place, just for a little while."

Was this a date? Were they going on a date? _No, no, I'm not ready for a date! It's too soon!_

Or was it?

"_Think of it as a 'business meeting',"_ the little feminist in her mind told her. _"You're two like-minded people; two writers, exchanging tips and providing feedback."_ Yes, that was safe. Besides, he no doubt had some girlfriend back in Dublin, who was patiently waiting for him to return just in time for Christmas. And letting her heart get involved with anyone right now was not for the best. _That's not why I came here; now if I can only keep reminding myself that!_

"Alright," she squeaked, before attempting to cover the sound with a cough. "How about…seven o'clock?"

"Perfect!" he grinned. "That will give me enough time to tweak my work before I pass it off into the talented hands of a great writer like Sybil Crawley."

"Hardly," she groaned, but returned his smile. They made their goodbyes, and she returned to her chair by her typewriter, and listened as the engine of his car returned to life…and began to fade as it carried him back to the village. Why she was feeling sad? She had no idea; after all, she would be seeing him later that evening. But still…even with that knowledge, Sybil was discovering that this was the worst part of her day…

…When Tom left.

* * *

"No, no, I shouldn't, I really, really shouldn't!"

Charles laughed, despite himself. "Thank you, James," he murmured to the befuddled looking waiter. The young man had returned with another glass of mulled cider, as well as tray containing samples of various confections that the kitchens were featuring for the holiday season. This was his fourth trip back to the table where Charles and his guest were seated. Mrs. Hughes had sampled several cakes and tarts already, including a rich, rum-soaked fruit cake, and a treacle tart with a hint of gingerbread.

_After leading her to the café, Charles offered to take her coat, as well as send a waiter to take her order. Mrs. Hughes smiled and thanked him, and Charles went about his duties as per usual. However…he kept returning to the café, just…poking his head around the corner on a few occasions to see how the lady was doing. Despite the fact that Mrs. Patmore was nowhere to be seen and had given no indication as to how long she would be away…Mrs. Hughes seemed quite content, sitting there in that café, sipping a spiced mulled cider that James had brought her._

_ "Who's that?"_

_ Charles practically jumped at the voice and turned to find William standing just behind him. "No one!" he answered a little too quickly. He then cleared his throat. "I mean, she's a friend of Mrs. Patmore's," he calmly explained, trying to regain some composure. _

_ William nodded his head, but instead of leaving and returning to his post, remained by Charles' side. "She's pretty…"_

_ For some reason, Charles felt heat suddenly rush and fill his cheeks. _

"_It's shame she's sitting all by herself…"_

"_Don't you have someplace to be, William?" Charles asked through slightly gritted teeth._

_The footman simply smiled and gave a small bow of his head…before returning to the grand piano just outside the café; William was an accomplished pianist and played music at the hotel during the afternoons. _

_ Charles knew he should go too. Mrs. Hughes was clearly doing alright by herself, enjoying her beverage and looking out the window as Christmas lights began to shine on the various buildings around the hotel. And it wasn't as if he didn't have his own duties to attend to. And yet…_

_ "I do beg your pardon, madam, but is this seat taken?"_

_ Mrs. Hughes turned her head back from the window and looked up at him. He smiled kindly, hoping he didn't look too dopey or anything foolish like that. Thankfully, Mrs. Hughes smiled back and nodded her head. "Please, have a seat!" she grinned, taking another sip of her cider. "This is delicious," she said with a smile. "Would you care for a glass as well?"_

_ "You know…" Charles murmured. "I think I would! James!"_

_ Jimmy appeared then, looking rather surprised to see his boss sitting in the café, complete in uniform, acting like one of the guests. Even Charles couldn't believe his brashness when he later reflected upon the day, but for right now…he simply decided to enjoy the moment._

_ "Have you sampled _The Edwardian's_ treacle tart, Mrs. Hughes? It is one of our specialties."_

_ "No…but it sounds delicious!" she said with a giggle._

_ Charles smiled and ordered two helpings of treacle tart, along with his own glass of spiced mulled cider._

And that was how it had all begun. Mrs. Hughes raved about the treacle tart, saying it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. She then made some remark about how wonderful the hotel smelled upon entering…and Jimmy was back again, taking orders for fruit cake, as well as refilling their glasses…and then he returned a third time, with a different pastry, and now, by the fourth time, she was laughing and shaking her head. "No, no, as tempting as it is…I really, really shouldn't! Lord knows I've ruined my appetite enough as it is!"

Jimmy departed and she and Charles continued laughing and grinning. "You must apologize then, to your family," he murmured. "I did not mean to get you stuffed to the point where you could not enjoy dinner with them."

Mrs. Hughes looked a little confused. "My family? Oh!" she quickly began to shake her head. "No, no, you misunderstand," she clarified. "My name, 'Mrs.' Hughes, is in truth an 'honorary' title."

Charles' brow furrowed at this. Although…something in his chest lifted. "Honorary?"

She nodded her head, looking a little embarrassed. "It's rather old fashioned," she explained. "But…as a housekeeper, a woman, regardless of her marital state, is always referred to as 'Mrs.'."

His eyes widened a little at this. "Ah! So…" _you're not married?_ No, no, he couldn't ask her something as blatant as that. "So…you are a housekeeper then?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded her head, but lowered her gaze, choosing, it seemed, not to say anything further on the subject. Instead, she decided to change it, lifting her head towards the sounds of the piano playing. "Beautiful music," she murmured.

Charles nodded his head. "Yes, William, our footman, he's very talented."

She seemed to find this interesting. "I didn't know that was a job that still existed—footmen, I mean."

"It is rare to find one, these days. But we at _The Edwardian_ like to help our guests feel like…well, like royalty, I suppose."

She smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, well with foods as rich as these, I can say you are safely on your way of doing just that!" She sighed and glanced at her watch, and Charles realized, much to his disappointment, that indeed, a great deal of time had passed and it was much later than realized. "I'm afraid I must go…" she sighed, taking one last sip of her cider.

"Of course," he murmured, rising from his chair. He moved around the table quickly to help Mrs. Hughes, to which she thanked him…and seemed to blush. Charles couldn't deny it rather made his chest swell with pride. He then watched as she reached for her purse…and before he realized what had taken possession of him, he said, "No charge, Mrs. Hughes."

She froze and lifted her eyes to him, her own wide with surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

Charles tried to clear his throat, feeling rather shocked himself. Still, he had said it and he might as well stick to it. "No charge. As they sometimes say in the pictures, 'it's on the house'."

"Oh…oh but Mr. Carson—"

"I insist," he said with a kind but firm voice. "It's a shame Mrs. Patmore couldn't be here to greet you, but I did say that you are _my_ guest, and as such…there is no charge."

She looked at him then, and Charles felt a rather unusual…fluttering feeling…in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you, Mr. Carson," she murmured, and then reached forward and took his hand in hers and gave it a friendly shake. He quickly recovered and returned the shake, before politely clearing his throat and escorting her back to the lobby where he had taken her coat.

"I do hope I haven't gotten you into any trouble," Mrs. Hughes sighed as they returned to the lobby. Charles held her coat for her, and once again he noticed her cheeks turning pink as he helped her put it on. "I didn't mean to monopolize so much of your time this afternoon—"

"Mrs. Hughes, it was both an honor, and a pleasure." And he meant that. Truly.

She smiled, and then turned her gaze back towards the lobby doors, as if preparing herself to return to the cold December air.

"I can have a cab hailed for you—"

"Oh Mr. Carson, that won't be necessary," Mrs. Hughes insisted. "You have already been so kind. Besides, I just need to get to the tube station and I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, thank you. And thank you for the afternoon. While it wasn't what I had been expecting…it was very nice, all the same."

Yes…yes it had been. Very nice and very surprising.

Not so far away, William watched as the two made their final goodbyes…and then he watched as Mr. Carson remained standing where he was, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, as the woman he had been sitting with and spending a few hours with, disappeared out the doors. And even after she had walked out of the hotel, Mr. Carson remained where he was…as if watching her go, until she could no longer be seen.

_Interesting_, the footman thought to himself. He turned then and decided, against his better judgment, to pop into the kitchens and see what Daisy was up to. Perhaps if he told her that both Mr. Carson and his guest were raving about the many delicious desserts they had sampled, it would bring a smile to her face? He had noticed over the last few days that she seemed rather…troubled; as if some great decision was weighing down on her.

He entered the kitchens…and was surprised to see Mrs. Patmore?

"What are you doing here?"

"Shh!" she hissed, holding a finger to her lips. She glanced out the window in the kitchen door, then looked back at William. "Has she gone?"

"Who?"

"Elsie of course!"

William was even more confused. "Elsie?"

"Argh!" Mrs. Patmore groaned. "My friend, Elsie, she was the lady sitting in the café with Mr. Carson!" the cook explained. "I just saw her get up and leave the room—is she still in the hotel? Or has she left yet?"

William was so confused. "She's gone…just left the lobby, where Mr. Carson is standing—hang on; you mean to tell me you were here the whole time?"

"Of course I was here!" Mrs. Patmore hissed. "As soon as I learned that Elsie would be coming over, I made myself scarce; had Daisy cover for me," she said with a wink. "She told Mr. Carson that I was 'gone', which did the trick!"

"I don't understand—"

"Mr. Carson sat down with her, didn't he?"

William nodded his head. "Yes…and he sat there for quite some time."

"He did, didn't he?" Mrs. Patmore grinned, rather mischievously. "And they appeared to be getting along very well, from what little I could see, and from what little I could get Jimmy to tell me," she murmured, returning to looking out the kitchen door window once again.

Realization was slowly beginning to dawn on William. Had it all been a set up? Was Mrs. Patmore…playing matchmaker with Mr. Carson?

The idea was so astounding, so ridiculous, so…incredible, that he was completely taken by surprise when Daisy suddenly appeared in the room, robbing him of his breath at the sight of her, her cheeks peppered with flour.

"H-h-h-hello Daisy…" he stammered, feeling like a right idiot.

Daisy looked up at him and put on a small smile, but she still looked troubled. "Oh, hello," she murmured, before walking right past him to where Mrs. Patmore stood.

William immediately began chastising himself for how stupid he must have sounded just then. However, all thoughts left him, as he heard the pretty sous-chef say, "I've decided to do it, Mrs. Patmore—I will go to Paris to take that course."

_Paris?_ William paled at Daisy's words. What was in Paris? What did she mean about taking a 'course' in Paris?

"Oh! Oh my dear girl, I'm very glad to hear it!" Mrs. Patmore gushed, turning her full attention to Daisy, who William now noticed was holding a pamphlet about some fancy French pastry school. "And just in time as well; I'll send the deposit right away!"

"I did some research on the web about traveling expenses," Daisy went on. "I insist that you let me pay for the flight, Mrs. Patmore, since you're already doing so much."

Neither of them were paying attention to William…and he couldn't help but lean closer and closer as the conversation continued.

"The cheapest flight I could find is at 11:15pm on Christmas Eve—"

"Christmas Eve?" Mrs. Patmore gasped.

_Christmas Eve?_ William panicked.

Daisy nodded her head. "It's probably for the best, since the class starts on the 26th; I can relax before it and perhaps explore a little bit of Paris—I've never been out of the country before!"

Paris. She was going to Paris. She was leaving to attend some sort of pastry school, in Paris…on Christmas Eve! She would be spending Christmas Day…in Paris.

…Without him.

* * *

Mary groaned. It was late, and she had just finished yet another interview with some paper or news channel (in all honesty, they were beginning to blend together), wanting to know what drove her to say what she said on Thursday morning, wanting to hear her thoughts on the negative remarks given by the opposition, as well as how she was handling the internet phenomenon of her speech being uploaded to practically every internet video channel and social networking site within a matter of minutes after making her announcement.

She was grateful to be away from it all (at least for another day). She kicked off her heels and unbuttoned her suit jacket, throwing on a nearby chair, not bothering to hang it back up in her closet. "I just need to relax…" she groaned, before flopping down on the bed.

_"The People's Prime Minister!"_

_"Champion for the Lost!"_

_"A Woman Every Girl Can Admire!"_

_"A Great Leader for a Great Nation!"_

These had been some of the headlines she had heard spoken or seen throughout the day (not every headline was positive, but right now she didn't want to focus on the negative ones). She closed her eyes and tried to block out everything else. "Music…" she murmured to herself. Yes, some music would do very well right now in helping her relax. She found her Ipod and put the ear buds on. She laid her head back and turned the little gadget on…and listened as the soothing notes of Mozart washed over her.

_No…this is too relaxing. I'll go right to sleep…and while I do want to relax, I'm still very wired from everything that's happened…_

She changed the song.

Elton John's _"Your Song"_ started playing. And while Mary liked the song, anything resembling a love song right now was probably not for the best, so she quickly changed that one too.

_"I like the way you work it,  
(No diggity!)  
I got to bag it up, (bag it up!)  
I like the way you work it,  
(No diggity!)_

Mary changed the song, although she was starting to move her body to the music. No…no, she needed something…fast paced…loud, but not too loud…and British. She wanted something fun, fast paced, and very, very British.

…The next song was a complete accident. And yet…it was perfect.

_ "Yo, I'll tell ya what I want, what I really, really want!"  
"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want?"_  
_"I'll tell ya what I want, what I really, really want!"  
"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want?"  
"I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh) I wanna (huh)  
I really, really, really wanna zig a zig ah!"_

_"If you wannabe my lover! You gotta get with my friends!  
Make it last forever! Friendship never ends!  
If you wannabe my lover! You have got to give!  
Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is!"_

Despite the ridiculousness of the song and its lyrics (and the fact that Mary would sooner die than admit to anyone that she had once been a die-hard Spice Girls fan) she found herself sitting up…and leaping off the bed…and with a huge, goofy smile on her face…began dancing around the room to the song.

Lip-syncing was the natural progression to such a song. In her stocking feet, she danced around the room and pretended to sing to the words by Ginger, Scary, Sporty, Posh, and Baby.

And she loved it. It felt great.

Soon the song had her going beyond the realms of her bedroom…and into the hallway just outside.

_"Yo, I'll tell ya what I want, what I really, really want!"  
"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want?"_  
_"I'll tell ya what I want, what I really, really want!"  
"So tell me what you want, what you really, really want?"  
"I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh) I wanna (huh)  
I really, really, really wanna zig a zig ah!"_

She danced down the staircase, practically sliding on the banister as she went.

_"If you wannabe my lover!" _she lip-synced. "_You gotta get with my friends!"_

She landed at the bottom of the stairs and began dancing around the landing…moving through various empty rooms and past empty corridors, twirling this way and that, her arms in the air, her eyes closed as the silly lyrics about Girl Power continued to wash over her.

"_So here's the story from A to Z,  
If you wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully…"_

She danced into what looked like an darkened empty room, her back to the doorway...not realizing that someone was passing by.

_"Slam your body down and wind it all around!  
Slam your body down and wind it all arou—"_

"Gwen!" Mary stopped her dancing right where she stood, her arms coming down to her sides and just like that…she had once again regained her profession composure.

Her assistant stood there, also wearing the same air of professional composure, not acting like she had just walked into a room, spotting the leader of the United Kingdom, dancing around a room and lip-syncing to the Spice Girls.

"Gwen, I'm glad to run into you," Mary murmured. "Can we move the meeting with the Japanese Ambassador? It just seems that…one o'clock is very early…"

"Of course," Gwen murmured, making a quick note. "How does four o'clock sound?"

"Perfect," Mary replied in an even tone. "Thank you."

Her expression remained unemotional, despite the rising red color to her cheeks. As she turned to make her retreat, she could feel Gwen's amused smirk on her back.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	10. 2 Weeks to Christmas (part I)

_My week of updates continue! My goal is to get through the "2 Weeks to Christmas" section before Christmas (parts 2 & 3 coming next). So be on the lookout for more updates as we get closer and closer to the holiday! My ultimate goal is to get this whole story finished by New Years Day (hopefully!) Anyway, this chapter did become heavily "Sybil/Tom" but don't worry other ship fans! More Charles/Elsie stuff is on the way, plus some Edith action, Robert/Cora, and Anna/Bates! But to my fellow Sybil/Tom fans...especially if you are fans of the movie, I give you "the pond scene" ;o) THANKS FOR READING AND COMMENTING!_

* * *

_Chapter Ten_

**2 Weeks to Christmas (part I)**

Every so often, the weather in December would be unusually "warm". Now by now means was this the sort of weather one would go outside and sunbathe in. But it would be just warm enough that a person could sit outside for a tolerable period of time, so long as they were wearing a thick, warm sweater. This had happened last year, Sybil remembered; she brought her typewriter outside and sat at the single patio table that overlooked the nearby pond, and for several hours watched various ducks and geese swim and quack and honk, while she clacked away at the keys on her machine. After so many cold nights, she wasn't sure she would have such a day like that again…but that day, as she watched the ducks and geese gather outside…she thought it just might be warm enough. And to her delight, it was.

With a grin, she wrapped herself up in a thick sweater, and prepared to take her typewriter and some paper outside…only to realize the task would be near impossible. There was no way she could walk with crutches…and carry a typewriter. "Oh bollocks," she swore under her breath. Perhaps she could take a notepad and pen and just write long-handed?

However, just when she had resolved herself to do this, a familiar car pulled up to the cottage, and Sybil bit her lip and told her face to cease its blushing and her heart to cease its hammering…as her Irishman climbed out.

_Her Irishman._ Yes…she had been thinking of Tom Branson in those terms for quite some time now.

He visited her every day now. Some days he stayed for an hour (long enough to have a cup of tea and see if there was anything she needed), and other days he stayed for several (doing various odd chores). While he could certainly ring her before popping by…Sybil didn't mind. In fact, she relished those moments…especially the times he stayed for several hours.

_"This isn't good,"_ a voice in her head would warn her. _"You know that this is only temporary; you'll be leaving next week, back home to London. And really, what do you know about this man? Other than the fact that he's charming, polite, intelligent, funny, kind, handsome—oh God, will you stop it? He'll be going back to his wife/girlfriend/lover next week, while you'll be going back to an empty house, sad and alone—"_

She told the voice to shut up.

"Hey!" he greeted, and she quickly smiled, her insides melting already at the sight of him walking through her door. "Oh, you're bumbled up," he noticed. "Did the heat break again?"

"No, no, I um…I was actually thinking of sitting outside for a while, to do some writing," she explained.

"Oh! Well, I can kind of understand that; it is a little warmer today than usual, especially for this time of year. I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to make the most of it while you can!"

She smiled at him and blushed as a girlish giggle escaped her throat. The little feminist on her shoulder groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Good thing I stopped by when I did," he smiled, quickly moving to pick up her typewriter, the very thing she had been agonizing not so long ago. "I assume you want to out on the patio?"

She nodded her head and followed him, thanking him as he held the door open for her, and hobbled to the small table, where he carefully placed her typewriter, before removing his jacket and placing on top of the chair. "The metal will be cold," he explained with a bit of a blush. Sybil blushed as well, realizing that her rump would soon be sitting atop a warm piece of clothing that he had just been wearing! _"Get a hold of yourself!"_ her feminist chastised. _"You're twenty-five, not fifteen!"_

She had felt this way the night of their "business meeting" _(not a date!),_ when he had taken her to the pub for dinner. The food was wonderful, and a small band had gathered that night to play Christmas carols with traditional Celtic instruments. She loved every second of that evening, from the music to the conversation. They talked more and more about books, their favorite authors and genres (Tom was apparently a huge Tolkien fan, and had just started reading _A Song of Ice and Fire_ series) as well as about the subjects he specialized in, history and politics. She had learned that his great-grandfather was worked as a chauffeur someplace in Yorkshire, during WWI, and was arrested for being a contentious objector, as a sign of protest after his brother died during the 1916 Easter Rising. Upon his release, he returned to Ireland and marched alongside Michael Collins…and he didn't return alone. Sybil gasped as Tom told her how his "revolutionary" great-grandfather had won the heart ("corrupted" in her family's eyes) one of his employer's daughters, and she ran away with him to Ireland.

"_Goodness!" she gasped. "What happened?"_

"_She had four children, including my grandfather," he laughed. "She never looked back; she lived quite happily in Dublin till the day she died, at the ripe old age of 86. I was just a toddler at the time, but my mam tells me how she couldn't stop saying how much she thought, even at that age, I resembled my great-grandfather."_

Despite the fact that Sybil never thought of herself as a romantic…she found herself sighing wistfully at his story. The conversation continued, Tom remarking how he thought it was so fascinating that she used an old fashioned type-writer instead of a computer. She then told him the story about her typewriter and its unique history, and unlike Larry who rolled his eyes the first time (and every time after) she told that story, Tom grinned and told her he found that very…admirable of her. Admirable, and inspiring.

She thought of him the same way too. He gave her what he had of his dissertation, which was a daunting ninety plus page paper (plus endnotes), but after bringing her back to the cottage, she made herself a cup of tea (Irish Breakfast _with_ milk) and settled into bed, prepared to read at least ten pages.

She ended up reading half of it, and only stopped because the light-bulb in her bedroom was beginning to flicker as if preparing to go out.

It was brilliant! It wasn't dull at all, by no means! She now wished that she had a computer with her, so she could look up more information about what he was describing; she wanted to learn more! That was what his paper was doing; it made her more and more interested in the subject!

The following day she finished it and ended up re-reading the entire thing again. When he had popped around later that day, her first question was to ask him if he had more. To her delight and his surprise, he told her he did, but it would require him bringing his laptop, since he hadn't printed that part yet. Another excuse to go to the pub, and this time she sampled the Irish stew with sausages.

"_You're mad to say it's dull!" she told him, meaning every word. "I hope you aren't offended if I tell you that it reads like a novel?"_

"_Not at all!" he grinned, looking so surprised by her words. "History and politics have enough stereotypes going against them that the last thing they need is for another book to sound like every other."_

"_Exactly!" she grinned back. "And I feel sorry for anyone who lets that stereotype keep them from reading this! _

"Would you like some tea?"

She blushed, realizing that she had been lost in a daydream (or rather, a good memory). "Um, yes, that would be lovely," she murmured, looking down at her typewriter and quickly trying to pretend that she had been lost in thought over what to type next. Moments later he returned with a hot, fresh cup, and she thanked him. He then told her that his aunt had asked him to perhaps clear some brush away from the drive, if the weather was fairly decent. Sybil nodded her head, and Tom disappeared for who knows how long exactly. She thought about how after their second "business meeting" at the pub, she tried to delay returning to the cottage, and made the excuse that she needed to "exercise" her good leg by "walking" around the village streets. He then proceeded to tell her the history of the village, or what he knew of it, and for how long they walked (hobbled in her case), she wasn't sure...she honestly could listen him to read directions off a tea bag; she loved the sound of his voice.

The new character in her latest Inspector Findlay book (TOM) had gone through several changes since she created him. Originally he began as a nameless rookie cop, then he gained a name…then he became a seasoned homicide detective, transferred from another unit…and now, she was seriously considering making him her heroine's new partner…

Sybil jumped at the sound of an ax cracking through the air. What in the world? She lifted her head then…and gasped, her eyes going wide…and she watched Tom chopping what could only be firewood, just a few yards away.

How long had he been doing it? She wasn't sure…but it had at least been long enough to have a distinct sheen of perspiration soaking through his gray fitted shirt.

Her mouth was hanging open. She wouldn't be surprised if there was drool coming out, either. The shirt left little to the imagination, with how beautifully it clung to his body…and the act of chopping wood certainly put his muscles on display. _Good God, they're rippling…they're actually rippling!_

Sybil moaned…and leaned forward, too busy watching him…to realize that her simple action had pushed the typewriter slightly off kilter…causing the finished pages she had been working on to become loose…and fly up when a gust of wind came rolling by.

"NO!" Sybil screamed, trying to grab the pages that were flying away. "NO! NO! NO!" she kept shouting, desperately trying to stand up and hobble after them.

"Sybil, what is it?" Tom asked, dropping the ax he had been using and rushing over to her.

"My pages!" she pointed to the flying pieces of paper. "Oh God, that's the whole chapter I was just working on!"

The pages continued flying, and Sybil watched in horror as the wind carried them towards the pond. "OH NO!" she gasped, her hand covering her mouth as they began to descend towards the water. "NO!" she desperately reached for her crutches and tried to limp and hobble towards the pond, but she knew even if both her feet were in working order, she would never make it in time to save those pages from hitting the water. DAMN IT!

A blur rushed past her. Sybil frowned at first, and then realized that the blur was in fact…Tom? "What are you…?" her words faded as she realized what he was about to do. _Oh no…no, no, no, he can't!_ "TOM DON'T!" she shouted, realizing as he ran towards the tiny dock that led out onto the pond what his intentions were. "JUST LEAVE IT! IT'S NOT WORTH IT!"

But he wasn't paying any attention. He had kicked off his shoes, and was hands had crossed over his chest…and Sybil watched, transfixed…as he lifted his shirt over his head.

_Oh God…_

Her imagination hadn't done him justice. The muscles she had seen through his sweat-covered shirt looked even more powerful and radiant now without any fabric covering them. Her mouth fell open even more, as he reached down and unsnapped his jeans…and quickly rolled them down his legs…until he was simply standing in a tight fitted pair of black boxer-briefs. Sybil couldn't help but stare at his ass…and her eyes widened slightly as from his profile she could see at the front, the rather distinct outline of his—

"Oh God, he's in!" she gasped, when without a moment's hesitation, he dived into the water to retrieve her lost pages. She moved as quickly as her crutches would carry her to the dock, her eyes scanning the water, waiting for him to come up. "And if he drowns all because of me, I'll never forgive myself!"

Suddenly his head burst through the surface. "FUCK, IT'S COLD!"

"Oh Tom, please, it's not worth it!" Sybil groaned, feeling horrible that he had done this because of her silly behavior.

If he had heard her, he ignored her, as he swam towards the various pages that were floating atop the water's surface. "This better be good!" he shouted from the water. "I'd hate to come down with hypothermia for something my drunken brother could have written!" He was teasing her, she knew that, but she still felt horrible that he was in there and all because of her.

"It's not Agatha Christie, it's just rubbish!" Sybil limped out onto the dock. "Please, Tom, just get out of there! You'll freeze!"

He swam from one side of the pond to the other. If she weren't so worried about his health, or if she weren't berating herself over and over for her stupidity, she would have been able to appreciate another demonstration of his muscular body as he cut through the water like an Olympic swimmer. "Nearly done!" he shouted, collecting yet another page.

"Stop it! PLEASE! Tom, please, get out of there!" she was practically in tears, feeling so horrible, so embarrassed, and so worried that he would come down with hypothermia, and if that was the case, what would she do then? She couldn't drive to the hospital, not with how her foot was! Oh Lord, she didn't even know where the nearest hospital was! "Tom, please, I beg you, get out of theEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!"

She had been leaning forward on the dock, and her crutches began to slip…and before she knew it, she was tumbling headfirst into the pond.

"SYBIL!" Tom dropped the pages he had been holding and swam quickly to where she was.

Her head popped up then, and she whipped it back to get her wet hair out of her eyes. "FUCK, IT IS FREEZING!"

Despite his initial fear that she may have hit her head on the pond floor, he couldn't help but laugh as she muttered every curse under the sky about how cold the water was. "Come on," he swam up to her and grasped her by the waist. Sybil gasped and blushed as without any struggle, he hoisted her back onto the dock, before gripping the boards and hoisting himself out of the water. "Let's get you inside, you're shivering," he murmured, and then another gasp was escaping her mouth, as he bent down and picked her up, holding her close to his naked chest and proceeding to carry her away from the pond, and back into the cottage.

Indeed, she was shivering. But it had _nothing_ to do with the cold water.

* * *

"William?"

The footman glanced up at Mr. Carson's voice, his expression very solemn and very his eyes very sad. He was sitting at the grand piano, as he did every afternoon at _The Edwardian_, only today the music he played hadn't been what anyone would call "jolly".

Mr. Carson looked concerned. No doubt one of the managers had complained. If his melancholy mood had been bad before, it was worse now, knowing what he knew about Daisy leaving for Paris.

"I've noticed you've played that one particular song three times in a row," Mr. Carson observed. William glanced up at the sheet music: _"Blue Christmas"_ by Elvis Presley.

"Am I in trouble, Mr. Carson?"

Mr. Carson frowned and after a quick glance (the café only had a few patrons, and at the moment, there was no on in the lobby) he sat down on the piano bench next to the footman. "No, lad, I…I'm just concerned…" he glanced around again, and then asked in a quiet voice. "Daisy?"

William sighed and nodded his head. "Did you know she was going to Paris?"

The concierge's eyes widened at this news. "I…well, Mrs. Patmore mentioned something once, about wanting Daisy to consider taking a course in some pastry school, but…I hadn't heard anything further…" he reached forward and William felt Mr. Carson's hand on his shoulder. "So…she's said that she's going?"

William nodded his head. "A few days ago I overheard her talking to Mrs. Patmore; she said she would take the course, attend this pastry school in France…and she'll have to leave on Christmas Eve!" he lifted his eyes then, knowing that the threat of tears were shimmering in their depths. But he didn't care. He was inconsolable. "She'll be gone for Christmas…and who knows how long she'll be in France." He hung his head then, fighting the urge to cry. He knew it wasn't dignified, not for a fine place like The Edwardian. But the knowledge that he wouldn't see Daisy for Christmas, that he she would soon be leaving was too much to bear. He could feel his heart breaking at thought—as it had been, ever since he heard the news. But what was worse was that despite the troubled looks she had been wearing for the last few weeks, she now looked so…happy. Relieved, even! She had made a decision to do something about her future, and William wanted to be happy for her, truly; he thought Daisy was a talented cook, especially when it came to pastry. But that happiness was shadowed by his loneliness. And his fear that she would go away…and forget all about him.

Not that she really knew him. Whenever he spoke to her (which wasn't much beyond a stuttering "h-h-h-hello") she would smile, sometimes return the greeting, but then go about her duty, not giving him a backwards glance_. I'm invisible to her; she doesn't even know I exist, so why would she come back here? _

"William…" Mr. Carson murmured, and he lifted his head then, meeting the kind, fatherly eyes of his friend. "She will be coming back; surely you know that…"

But William shook his head in doubt. "Do I, Mr. Carson?" he whispered. "What is there for her here? Mrs. Patmore is right to encourage her to go to France; Daisy does have a gift. But…suppose she's offered a job in Paris? Suppose she likes it there, and wants to stay?" He bit his lip as the worst thought, the one he had been dreading ever since she announced she was going, filled his head once again. "What if…she meets someone there? And…and he's not a coward like me, and is able to win her heart?"

"William," Mr. Carson spoke, his voice sounding a little harsh. "You will stop talking like that, you understand? You are not a coward, and I will not tolerate any such language—otherwise I will force stand over your shoulder and force you to play 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' twelve times in a row," he threatened.

William stared up at the concierge for a moment, his eyes wide with momentary fear that the man meant his threat…and then much to his own surprise…burst out laughing. Mr. Carson smiled as William laughed, and squeezed the footman's shoulder in a gesture of support.

"That may be more of a punishment for you," William quietly laughed.

Mr. Carson sighed. "Yes, well…I have suffered worse for _The Edwardian_ and her staff through the years…" he rolled his eyes as he recalled once having to oversee the clean-up of several rooms when _Oasis_ had been staying at the hotel. Never again would _both_ Gallagher brothers be allowed to stay in the same building.

William felt a little better…but his heart still remained broken at the thought of Daisy leaving. "It still could happen, though, her wanting to stay in France or…meeting someone while there," he swallowed the emotional lump in his throat. "Don't misunderstand me, though; I…I wouldn't stop her from going, that wouldn't be right, and…and I love her too much to do anything that selfish. I wouldn't want to hold her back from achieving her dream…"

He looked up then at Mr. Carson, not sure what he was looking for. What advice could the man offer, really?

Charles Carson sighed again, and slowly rose from the piano bench. "Well, William…" he glanced sideways, checking to see if anyone else was close by. He then leaned his head down, and said in a voice barely above a whisper that William had to lean in to hear him. But hear him he did; and didn't know whether to gasp in shock…or burst out laughing again. "Basically…you're fucked."

* * *

"Your tea is ready!"

Sybil closed her eyes and put her hairbrush down; she was still trying to get some of the tangles out after her tumble into the pond. "I'll be right out!" she answered, before looking more time in the mirror and telling her brain and body to behave themselves! It was a futile struggle, she knew, but still, she tried.

After bringing her back inside the warmth and safety of her cottage, Sybil, still shivering from being carried and held in Tom's arms (and being nestled so close to his chest) quickly insisted that he put her down on a chair near the table, which he did, and then grabbed a hold of his hands, making him promise before he disappeared to get her a towel, to not go back out there and retrieve the pages that had fallen into the pond.

"It's my own fault for not keeping copies!" she groaned. "But I will not have you freeze to death over my own stupidity!" He opened his mouth to argue, but she held a silencing hand. "No. Chapters can be rewritten. Your health and well-being are more important."

The way he tenderly looked at her caused her insides to melt all over again. "Well, speaking of health and well-being, you need to get out of your wet clothes and dry off right away…" he paused and for the first time since meeting him, looked a little…uneasy. "Um…forgive me, but…" he ran a hand through his wet hair. "I don't mean to sound forward, but…do you need any help?"

"_YES!" _the seductress on her shoulder screamed. _"Strip me and get into a hot bath with me RIGHT NOW!"_

"No, no, I'll be fine," Sybil squeaked, ignoring her devilish side which was now screaming various curses at her. "Thank you…" she mumbled, before quickly retreating into her bedroom and shutting the door. She groaned and buried her face in her hands. Oh Lord, why hadn't the earth swallowed her up that first day she had met him? He gently knocked on the door to see how she was doing. She told him she would be out in a little bit, and he then asked her if she wanted some tea. Now here she was…her wet clothes peeled off and hanging in the tub, while she was once again in her warm, flannel pajamas, towel drying her hair and trying to comb through the wet curls. _ I don't know why I bother_, she thought as she looked at her reflection and frowned. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door and hobbled back out to the kitchen.

Save for his hair, which had the same somewhat wet-slick look that hers had, he fully dressed again, obviously having gone back outside to retrieve his clothes. He had been smart to remove them, she realized, otherwise he would be forced to walk around the cottage in nothing but a towel—

"Are you alright?"

"What?" she squeaked, looking up at him.

"Just…you look flushed…"

_Only because I was imagining you naked._ She took the mug of tea he had poured for her and quickly raised it to her lips, not caring that it burned her tongue, she could hide behind it and blame her pinkness on the hot liquid. "Thank you," she muttered, before turning and sitting down quickly at the table.

"Here…" he sat down on a chair opposite of her, and before Sybil realized what he was doing…he had his hands around her leg, the one with the cast, and he was lifting it off the ground…and resting it on his lap! She watched with wide eyes as he took a towel (perhaps the one that had been used to dry his body? A girl could hope) and began to run the fabric over the cast. "Sorry," he murmured, glancing up at her. She was trembling beneath his touch, and he was perhaps worried he was hurting her. Oh if he only knew the truth…which she was glad he didn't know. "It's important to keep it dry," he explained. "But you probably know that," he murmured, looking adorable with that sheepish grin. _Oh just kill me now…_

"Thank you," she managed to reply without stammering, by some miracle. She tried to relax and sip her tea, but it was difficult. Her foot was resting on Tom Branson's lap. Tom Branson was holding her leg, running a towel over it. Tom Branson had stripped to near nakedness, and had dove into a pond in an attempt to save her pages. Tom Branson had carried her to the cottage after she fell in, and then offered to undress her if she needed the help. Yes…it was very, very difficult to relax just now.

"I'm sorry about your book—"

"Oh stop," Sybil groaned. She didn't deserve his sympathy. "It's my own fault, and it's not a great loss; while yes, it is annoying, I can write it again and that is exactly what I'll do."

He smiled then, and his smile did more to warm her than the tea she was drinking. "I once lost a twelve pages of my dissertation; computer virus," he explained, rolling his eyes at the memory. "I think I swore every curse word I knew in both English and Irish…and then repeated them."

Sybil found herself laughing, which made his smile grow even more. "It's just as well…" she sighed, after her laughter died down. "I would probably have had to go back and rewrite that chapter anyway; I can't seem to make up my mind on what to do with this new character."

"Oh?" he grinned, leaning in. "You know I finally started your fourth book; my favorite so far, if you don't mind me saying so."

_No, I don't mind at all_, she wistfully thought to herself. "Do you have a favorite character?" she shyly asked.

"Detective Inspector Findlay of course!" he grinned. "And…I don't know if you hear this often, but…she's hot."

Sybil nearly spat her tea everywhere. "R-r-really?' she coughed, patting her chest.

He nodded his head. "What's not to admire about a kick-ass policewoman who's had to fight for respect to get to where she is? I love that she speaks her own mind and won't tolerate any of that male-chauvinist bullshit—" he blushed then as he realized he had been ranting. "Sorry," he quickly apologized, but Sybil didn't mind. She loved that he loved her heroine as much as she did. "But…that Lt. Greyson? Forgive me, but…what a prick."

Sybil was a little surprised by Tom's vehemence against her character. Once upon a time she may have felt the need to defend the character that she had written in Larry's honor. It was his idea to give Inspector Findlay a secret lover on the police force. Of course, things were different now. Now, she knew Larry to be a bastard, and therefore had no qualm in Tom calling his character a prick.

"Not that she needs a boyfriend," Tom explained. "But…if she is going to have one, at least let it be a man who appreciates her and values her," he seemed to realize then who he was talking to, and turned a bright shade of red, like the day she had discovered he had bought her books. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I—"

"No, it's fine," she assured, giggling despite herself. "It's nice, actually, to get some reader feedback. In fact…one of the problems I've been having with this latest book, the thing that's been giving me writer's block," she explained, "is that my publisher wants me to do something 'dramatic', something that will shock my readers…" she sighed and looked down. "And one of their suggestions is killing off one of my characters."

Tom frowned at this. "That seems a little over the top, don't you think?"

Sybil groaned. "That's the publishing industry. Anyway, it's been suggested that I kill off her sister—"

"WHAT?" Tom gasped, his eyes going wide. "But…why? I mean, I know you said they want you to do something dramatic, but…what purpose does that serve, really? I'm sorry, but…I love the character of Maggie, I love how she keeps Susan grounded, and she's the only family that she has!" Once again, he seemed to realize who he was talking to. "Sorry, I don't mean to dictate, it's your book, and you should do what you feel is best."

Sybil found herself smiling again, especially at the passion he had shown for her characters. She loved the character of Maggie too, a character that contained the best elements of both her sisters. When her publisher had suggested killing Maggie, Sybil was devastated. However, none of her other suggestions seemed to satisfy them, and they had been breathing down her neck for several months on getting the book complete (they were already upset that they weren't going to have it out to sell for Christmas).

"I…I don't really want to kill her off," Sybil admitted after a brief pause. It sounded almost like a confession in church from the way she was whispering.

Tom gave a soft smile. "Then don't."

"Yes, but what do I say to my publisher?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's _your_ work, not theirs. Look, I know I'm naïve when it comes to the world of publishing, at least I am for the moment," he semi-joked. "But…at the end of the day, no one can force you to write your story in a way that you don't want to. And if they don't like it? Then to hell with them," he said in a rather dramatic fashion that had Sybil giggling. "It will be their loss if they let you go over something like that. I bet there are at least a dozen other publishing companies that would kill to have their name on your books, and who would probably appreciate you more."

Sybil couldn't help but feel pride swell in her chest at his words. If truth be told, she wasn't happy with her current publishing company, and she was feeling a little bullied by them. Maybe he was right? Maybe she should risk it, and write the story as she wanted to write it. If they dropped her, she wouldn't cry over the break-up…

Rather like how she hadn't really cried over her break-up with Larry. Which in some ways was rather remarkable, considering how long they had been together. Maybe her heart knew there was something better for her out there, long before her head knew? And maybe…that something was a certain Irishman?

"Lt. Greyson _is_ a prick," she said out of nowhere. Tom looked a little surprised by this sudden confession, but by no means did he argue with her. "And I'm thinking of ending his and Susan's affair."

Tom smiled. "You'll hear no complaints from me."

"I'm also thinking of giving her a partner," she continued. "This new character that I've been trying to write, but have been struggling with where to put him in the story. I think that's the answer, actually—making him her partner."

Tom was grinning even more. "Sounds great!" he lowered his voice then, making his brogue sound even huskier, which naturally sent shivers down her spine. "Will there be some sexual tension?"

Her face flooded with color and she once again lifted her tea mug to cover it by taking a giant swallow. "I can guarantee it."

* * *

A decision needed to be made.

She had been avoiding it for as long as possible, but she knew today, after her latest press conference, after looking across the room and not meeting the eyes of any of the reporters or cameras but solely and completely looking at _him_…she knew she needed to do something before it was too late.

_It's already too late_, a voice inside told her. Yes, for that, she couldn't help it. But…it wasn't too late before she made a fool of herself or made matters worse. She wasn't just _any_ woman, not anymore. She couldn't have the sort of life other women had, and she was fine with that…or so she had once thought. But when she started this journey she knew that it meant certain sacrifices…and one of those sacrifices was her heart.

That evening, before everyone went home, she called Gwen into her office. "You wished to see me?" she asked, after shutting the door behind her.

"Yes…" Mary began, rising from her desk because quite frankly, she didn't feel comfortable sitting down while asking her assistant to do what she wanted her to do. "I wondered if I could speak with you about Matthew."

Gwen's eyes widened slightly. "Mr. Crawley?"

Mary nodded. "Yes. I um…" oh Lord, this was harder than she realized. "Mr. Crawley is very good at what he does, please don't misunderstand me there, but…I can't help but wonder if perhaps…" she paused to take a deep breath. "If perhaps he's better suited…elsewhere."

She looked and Gwen and bit her bottom lip. Her assistant looked a little confused. "I…I'm sorry, Prime Minister, but…has he done something wrong? Did he say something to the press—"

"No, no, nothing like that," Mary shook her head. "Matthew—I mean, Mr. Crawley, he's wonderful at his job, I just…" she paused, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Gwen…please, I'm asking you not to read anything into this, but…is it possible to have Mr. Crawley serve the party…anywhere other than Number 10 Downing?"

She would never forgive herself if she completely put him out of a job. She trusted Gwen; she knew Gwen would find the perfect place for him, as well as make sure it appeared like a "step up" from what he was already doing. She only hoped and prayed that someday, he would understand…and possibly forgive her.

Gwen held her gaze for a long moment…and then finally nodded her head. "Yes, Prime Minister, I can do that," she murmured. "Consider it done."

Mary swallowed and nodded her head; she didn't trust her voice. Without any further word, Gwen turned then and quietly shut the door behind her, leaving Mary alone, once again.

_Alone_. Yes, a perfect word. She never felt more alone than she did right now.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_...hang in there Mary/Matthew fans! And was it OOC for Carson to say what he said? In my mind, I like to think he can cut loose like that now and then ;o)_


	11. 2 Weeks to Christmas (part II)

_Thanks again for all the lovely comments! Just a quick warning: this chapter and the next are going to be a little more serious and perhaps a little sad in their subject matter...but hang in there as always! _

_And for the brave who truly want to experience a full-blown emotional kick to the heart (who would, I know? But it does enhance the experience!) read the first part of this story while playing **"Glasgow Love Theme"** from the "Love Actually" soundtrack. Here's a link to the score on Youtube: **www . youtube watch? v = 5qZ96zwfM24&list = FL9xHShmdqkDKwtSUwMET3kw&index = 2** (close in the spaces)_

_Thanks for reading and enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Eleven_

**2 Weeks to Christmas (part II)**

Evelyn couldn't help but laugh as he once again found himself watching Thomas Barrow's music video to _"Christmas is All Around";_ they had been replaying it that morning on the telly, and while the song was far from what Evelyn would ever call a classic, one had to appreciate the video and it's "ode" to Robert Palmer's _"Simply Irresistible"_…although he still couldn't understand why there was a unicorn prancing in the background. Hopefully when Thomas had his interview later in the week, he would explain the reasons behind it.

Evelyn had just finished eating his breakfast when he heard a knock at the door. "Who could that be?" he murmured to himself, and quickly put his cereal bowl in the sink before moving across the studio flat to the door. He would chastise himself later for not checking to see who it was before opening the door.

"Good morning!"

Evelyn's face went blank at the sight of her. "Edith…" he breathed.

She grinned and thrust a box into his hands. "Happy Christmas!"

He practically stumbled backwards from the force in which she had thrust the box at him. "I…I um…" what should he say? "Thank you…?" he rolled his eyes at himself.

She smiled and much to Evelyn's horror…let herself into the flat. "You can open it now if you'd like," she said, pointing to the box she had given to him. "It's from both Anthony and myself; a little something we picked up in Barbados," she explained.

"Oh…" he murmured, looking at the box and wondering if he should open it. Really, he was more concerned with the fact that she was inside his flat. "Um…thanks, again." His eyes followed her as she stepped further into the flat, unbuttoning her coat and removing her scarf. His eyes darted to the dirty sink, and then to the cluttered coffee table, and then back to where she was standing, near his television. "Is that all?"

She turned back to him, still wearing the same sweet smile she had worn upon entering. "Well, I wasn't sure when we would see you before Christmas," she began. "Anthony's so busy as you know, getting things ready for the Christmas Special—and then the two of us are traveling with my family back to Yorkshire for Christmas, and staying up there till after the New Year…so I thought now was probably the best time to pop by!"

He swallowed and nodded his head, a little nervously. "Great…" he murmured, although anyone could tell he wasn't feeling great. "Well…like I said, thanks again, and um…I hope you both have a great holiday—"

"Evelyn…"

_Oh God._

Edith looked down at her hands, which were clasped together, taking a deep breath as if preparing herself to say something, something he had a feeling he didn't want to hear, but he couldn't bring himself to stop her. She finally lifted her eyes and put on a smile, but anyone could tell it was strained.

"We're not complete strangers," she began. "I mean, when we were younger and my family still lived in Yorkshire, it wasn't rare that you would visit. Of course I know it was always to see Mary," she murmured with a small, sheepish smile. "All the boys wanted to see her."

Evelyn stood there, nervously fidgeting. What did she want him to say? What _could_ he say? Not the truth, certainly.

"And I know you're such wonderful friends with Anthony…and, please know that even though Anthony and I are married, I would never do anything to come between the two of you—"

"Edith—"

"No please, let me finish," she pleaded, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

God, it felt like something was squeezing his heart. He didn't think he could breathe.

"I know that you and I have never been friendly…as I said, the times you did come to visit you came to visit Mary, and you and Anthony have always been close, and ever since Anthony and I began seeing each other, and then of course after we became engaged, I…I know, in a sense, I…well, I started to 'steal him away' in a sense…" she looked down once more at her hands. "But now that he and I are married…" she paused and lifted her eyes and held his gaze in such a way that he didn't dare to blink. "Evelyn, what I'm trying to say is I want to be friends; I want us to get along, to get to know each other better, I…forgive me, I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable—"

Too late.

"But…you're such a dear friend to Anthony, and…I know it would make him happy to know that we're trying, and so…I want to try."

Oh God, this was worse than anything he could have ever imagined. Why…why had this happened?

"There…soapbox moment done," she murmured, her smile bashful and her fingers fidgeting in her palms. She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply.

"Right!" he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Right well…great, yes, um…how about we start fresh in the New Year then?" He would say anything to get her to go. Anything before she asked—

"Oh, good," her voice didn't hold any of the so-called "enthusiasm" that his did, but she put on a smile and straightened her shoulders. "Um…I confess, I did have another reason for popping by like this."

_Oh God, please, please, not that. Just…think of something. Give any excuse you can! Just get her out!_

"I know what you're going to ask, but I honestly don't have it ready," he lied.

Her hopeful face looked so crestfallen. "Well, I know you said you wanted to edit it some more, but…do you think because I'm here, I could just have a small peek? I really don't mind—"

"Yeah, but I do, I mean…this is going to be shown to the Prime Minister for God's sake—"

"Oh please, Evelyn, I don't need to see the whole thing, just a few minutes?"

God, the way she said his name, the way her eyes shined, looking up at him, the hope he saw in their depths. That squeezing he was feeling around his heart began to hurt.

"I…well, you caught me," he began, trying a new tactic. "The truth is, Edith…I um…I lost it."

Her brow furrowed with confusion. "Lost it?"

"The footage," he explained. "I lost the footage; I mean, it's somewhere on my laptop, but I've been so busy this week, I haven't had the chance to do a proper search, and I have this friend who works in tech support and is much better with computers than me, so he'll find it and I'll get it ready for you once he does, but he won't be available until the day before Christmas Eve—"

She was laughing. Why was she laughing?

"Oh Evelyn, why didn't you say so?" she giggled. "Sybil's ex Larry works with computers, and the only good thing I can honestly say about the bastard, outside of the fact that he once had good sense to date my little sister, is that he showed me how to recover missing media files on one's computer. Here, let me have a look!"

He was so stunned by her announcement that he stood there, frozen, his mouth hanging open while Edith went right to his laptop (which was still open) and sat down to do whatever search she was about to do. Of course, the truth of the fact was that her footage was by no means lost…and she would soon make that discovery.

"Edith, please, I must insist—" he tried to reach out to stop her…but the damage was done. As soon as she looked at the desktop…she saw the file.

"Evelyn! It's not missing, it's right here—"

"Don't open it!" he pleaded, preparing to tell her that the file was corrupted, that there was some virus connected to it, that it wasn't really her wedding footage but porn, ANYTHING to get her to stop. But she had already clicked on it…and the file immediately opened and began playing.

"OH!" Edith gasped, seeing the sanctuary doors open…and watching as she, on her father's arm, began to descend down the aisle. "Oh Evelyn…this is wonderful!"

Evelyn stood there, his mouth hanging open but no sound coming out.

Edith was grinning like a child in a toy shop. "Oh God, I was looking at Anthony the entire time that I didn't really have a chance to take in the church! Look at how the flowers hang from overhead! Oh this is gorgeous!"

She continued her descent down the aisle, the camera beginning to zoom in on her face as her father kissed her cheek, before giving her hand to Anthony, who then kissed her knuckles, before wrapping her hand tenderly and lovingly around his arm. "Oh look at us…" she murmured, wiping happy tears from her eyes. "Oh this is so beautiful, thank you, Evelyn, thank you so much!"

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, numbly…and continued to watch.

The footage began to change. Suddenly she was walking up the aisle, laughing and gasping as various people with instruments stood and played along to the song _"All You Need is Love"._ Edith laughed too, but she did look a little disappointed. "Oh no, were you unable to film our vows?" She didn't wait for him to respond, she quickly turned her head back to the screen as the footage changed once more, now moving on to the reception, where it showed her laughing and shaking hands with different guests as they went through a receiving line. The camera didn't move to any of her family members, nor did it even linger on Anthony. It was entirely focused on her smiling face. "Oh my…" she couldn't help but giggle. "I can't stop smiling, I must look so ridiculous!" she laughed.

He silently shook his head.

The footage changed again, and Edith leaned in, her chin resting on her hands as she watched her and Anthony's first dance. "Oh how lovely…" she whispered. "And I can hear the music so clearly, too! Really, Evelyn, I can't begin to describe how beautiful this all is! I mean, look at how you've filmed this! One would hardly guess that I have two gorgeous sisters, who truthfully are far prettier than me," she joked, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Once again, he silently shook his head.

More footage of the reception followed. And while Edith continued grinning and smiling…she began to notice something. The camera never seemed to leave her face. While she rested her head on her father's shoulder during their dance, it followed her face entirely while he twirled her around the room. When both she and Anthony cut the cake…it was focused entirely on her. During the various toasts, instead of filming the different people making them, the camera stayed focused on her, watching for her reaction, never once moving to Anthony's or any other person. And as the footage continued to change from one moment to another…the one thing that remained constant…was herself.

"It's all me…" she whispered.

Evelyn lowered his head.

Edith's smile disappeared then…and she swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. "They're all of me…"

"Yes…" he replied after a brief silence. "Yes," he repeated again, the words ringing true from the depths of his heart.

The screen went blank. The video had ended.

Silence filled the flat now. Evelyn took a few steps away and folded his arms across his chest, as if that would somehow protect his already hurting heart. Edith remained where she was sitting, her eyes never leaving the now blank computer screen. To say that the silence was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

And then she broke it.

"But…" she stopped, before continuing. "But…but you never talked me, not…not really, I mean…" she swallowed and slowly turned in her chair. "We never exchanged more than a few words back and forth—I mean…" she looked up at him. "I…you…you don't like me!"

It almost sounded like an accusation.

"You don't, you…Mary, it was always Mary, when we were younger…and…and then you would talk to Anthony, but…never to me, I…I…" her voice trailed off again, and Evelyn groaned, stepping even further away from where she was.

"Listen…I…I made a promise," he whispered. "I'll fix it, the footage I mean. I'll make sure it…it doesn't look like this, and…and um…I'll email it to Anthony, and…and he can show it to your sister at Christmas."

Edith stared at him, but he couldn't look at her. It hurt too much to look at her, just as it had hurt that day when he watched another man vow to honor and love her for the rest of his life, and her return that vow, before they sealed their marriage with a kiss. And no matter how hard he seemed to try…Evelyn had a feeling that the pain would never really go away.

"So…" he murmured, not sure really what to say. "I um…I'd appreciate it if…if you keep this to yourself, especially with Anthony."

"Evelyn—"

"I should go."

Edith frowned and rose to her feet. "Go?"

"Yeah…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair and across the back of his neck, but still refusing to meet her gaze which he could feel burning right through him. "Yeah, I um…I have an appointment. But…you can let yourself out, right?"

"Evelyn, please—"

"It's a self-preservation thing," he muttered under his breath, as if that explained everything. Then, without bothering to stop and look at her, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, walked right out of the flat.

He kept walking, not bothering to look back, never looking back. He quickened the pace, not caring for the cold wind that whipped past him, or the strange looks he was receiving from a few people because there were tears flowing down his face. He simply kept walking…forward and onward…to some unknown destination.

…And yet, it seemed that no matter how far or how quick he walked, even if it was out of the city…he could still feel her questioning gaze penetrating his back.

* * *

"So the two of you used to work together?" Charles casually asked as he sipped his tea. He was in the kitchens, talking to Mrs. Patmore, who was busy preparing the various sandwiches sold in the café for afternoon tea.

"What?" Mrs. Patmore asked, lifting her head.

Charles groaned but told himself to remain calm. He wouldn't get any information if he bullied her. "You had mentioned something about how you and…and Mrs. Hughes, used to work together, in Yorkshire?"

"Oh heavens yes," Mrs. Patmore said with a wave of her hand. "We served at the same house; I was cook, of course, and she was just a housemaid, then. By the time I left, she was being promoted to housekeeper!"

"I see…" he murmured, taking another sip of his tea. "And um…when did she come to London?"

Beryl glanced up at Charles and quickly looked back down, before he could see her secret smile. "Less than a year ago," she answered.

"Ah," he replied, now trying to think of what to say next. He had waited several days before seeking out _The Edwardian's_ chef to ask her about her friend, Mrs. Hughes…a woman who had been filling his thoughts quite a bit. He told himself he was simply curious, and that was all. She was a very nice woman and he had enjoyed her company in the brief time they had spoken. And…he was simply curious to know a little more about her, and since she was Mrs. Patmore's friend, he thought she was the best person to speak to. But that was all! There was nothing more to it…of course.

"She said she continues to serve as a housekeeper," he went on, once again trying to sound very casual. Mrs. Patmore simply nodded her head, but didn't offer any more information. Charles rolled his eyes and tried a different tactic. "I um…I assume she serves a different family now?" Again, the hotel chef nodded her head, but didn't offer any further information. Charles was doing his best not to groan. "I was given the impression that…that wherever she serves now, it must be very…important?"

Beryl groaned and looked up from her work. "For heaven's sake, Mr. Carson, what is it that you're trying to learn?"

Her question caught him off guard and he began to sputter. "I…well, I…I…I just would like to know her better; that is all! I'm just curious…" he was feeling a burning sensation beneath his cheeks, and tried to solve it by lifting his tea cup to his face and sipping it rather quickly (a little too quickly) as it caused him to cough and nearly spit the tea everywhere.

"Good Lord, Mr. Carson!" Mrs. Patmore groaned, quickly pushing a dish towel towards the concierge.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he coughed, taking his own handkerchief from his pocket and quickly wiping his mouth and chin. How embarrassing. Thank God her friend wasn't here to see that!

Beryl couldn't help but find the whole situation amusing. This was going much, much better than she could have hoped for! She always knew, deep in her bones, that Elsie would make an impression on Charles Carson. But she needed to keep the charade going; she couldn't let either of them know she was behind their unexpected meeting. "Look, Mr. Carson…it's not my business to say who Elsie's employer is—although I can say that the household she serves now is…well, let's just say one of the most important households in the entire country."

Charles' eyes widened at this revelation. _One of the most important households in the entire country?_ Well…she obviously didn't work at Buckingham Palace or Windsor or any of the Queen's residences; he couldn't imagine a woman as important as that wanting to spend time at some London Hotel.

"The lady she serves has a great influence over Britain…" Mrs. Patmore added, giving another clue.

Charles gave the chef a look, but continued his attempts at trying to figure out who she was talking about. A lady, and a woman who had great influence over the country, but who couldn't be the Queen or any member of the royal family. "J.K. Rowling?"

"Mr. Carson!" Beryl groaned, throwing her arms up in sheer frustration. "I'll give you one last hint. The number 10 is in the address!"

He frowned. "The number 10 is in the address…?" And then it dawned on him. "Good Lord!" he gasped, his voice lowering as he leaned forward. "You mean to tell me that Mrs. Hughes works for the Prime Minister?"

Beryl grinned, but didn't say anything. "Not my business to say…" she murmured to herself, going back at fixing the sandwiches.

Charles didn't need her to confirm what he now knew to be true. Mrs. Hughes…was housekeeper at Number 10 Downing. She worked for the Prime Minister! And he was just a simple concierge for a hotel. Granted, _The Edwardian_ was a fine hotel, one of the finest in all of London…but still…

"So um…so you and Elsie got along?" Beryl casually asked, adding the final touches to the cucumber sandwiches she was working on. She needed to finalize the ham and duck ones next.

"What? Oh! Oh um…yes, yes, she's a fine woman," he murmured, looking down at what remained in his tea cup.

"Good!" Beryl smiled. "Even though she's been living in London for this long, she still hasn't gotten the chance to meet many people."

"No doubt she's very busy," he murmured again. "After all, she serves for such an important house…"

"I was thinking of inviting her here on Christmas," she causally sighed, glancing up from under her lashes to see Mr. Carson's response.

Indeed, his head snapped to attention at this. "Oh?"

She smiled to herself. "Yes, um…she has a sister back in Glasgow, but she told me she wasn't planning on traveling there for the holiday. She would just be staying here…but be all by herself, then."

Charles frowned at this. "No, no, no one should be alone on Christmas Day," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Lovely!" Beryl grinned, feeling rather proud. "I'll invite her to join us when I next speak to her."

Charles nodded his head…and then glanced over at the cook. "And um…when do you think that will be?"

Beryl opened her mouth to answer, but Daisy quickly came over and murmured something about an important telephone call for Mrs. Patmore. "Better not be Boris Johnson, wanting my recipe for salmon soufflé," she grumbled. "Take the number down, Daisy; I'm busy getting the tea sandwiches ready right now, so I'll call them back in half an hour." The sous-chef nodded her head and quickly flitted back to inform the caller.

Charles frowned as he watched the girl go. "I understand that Daisy will be attending pastry school?" he turned and looked back at the cook. "Pastry school in Paris, if I am correct?"

Beryl groaned. "I was going to tell you, I've just been so busy as of late—"

"Exactly my point, Mrs. Patmore," Charles groaned. "I know that you're keen on helping Daisy perfect her gifts in the art of pastry making, but do you think it's wise, now of all times, to send her off? We'll have to find someone by New Years to fill in for her!"

"We'll manage," Mrs. Patmore muttered. "I'll manage; and I won't let this opportunity pass her by. She'll do far better going to that school than staying here…" she paused and looked around the kitchen, taking in how calm it all was. "And if truth be told, my sanity could use a holiday."

Charles sighed. It was tempting to reveal to the chef what William had told him, about being in love with Daisy and his agony over her leaving. But he couldn't betray the lad's confidence, and William had begged him not to say anything to Mrs. Patmore. Just as he had tried to gain information from the cook about Mrs. Hughes, he tried another tactic. "I understand that she will be leaving late on Christmas Eve?"

Beryl frowned. "Who told you that?"

"I…" he coughed. "Well, people hear things, and pass them onto me; I am concierge, after all."

Beryl rolled her eyes. "She insists on paying for the flight, herself, since I'm helping her pay for the school. A late flight on Christmas Eve was the most affordable she can find."

"Yes, but she'll be all alone on Christmas, in a foreign country—"

"Don't worry, Mr. Carson, I have friends from my cooking school days who live in Paris; I already wrote to them and told them about Daisy and they'll pick her up from the airport, and until the dormitories open, she'll stay there with them and no doubt have one of the best Christmas dinners—save for our own, of course."

What could he say to that? The woman truly had thought of everything.

And he felt like he had somehow failed William. "Well…" he sighed, finishing the last of his tea and placing the dirty cup in the sink. "Do let me know if Mrs. Hughes—"

"Elsie?"

He coughed. "Yes…um, anyway, please let me know if she will be joining us. William told me yesterday that his father will be coming to London for the holiday."

"Oh!" Mrs. Patmore smiled. "So he's not going back north?"

Charles shook his head. "First Christmas after his mother's death; I think they both wish to be away from home."

Beryl's smile faded to a look of sympathy. "Of course. Well, that will be nice, though, having Mr. Mason here. I don't believe I've met the man, so it will be nice to have another face at the table!"

Charles nodded his head, but he could not bring himself to smile. "Yes…it's just a shame that Daisy will not be there to join us."

Beryl frowned and looked up at her friend with suspicious eyes. "Why this sudden interest in Daisy? A few weeks ago you couldn't remember her name!" Her gaze suddenly widened and she pointed an accusing finger at him. "Charles Carson…you couldn't possibly…?"

"What?" he looked confused.

"You're twice her age! THREE TIMES HER AGE!"

"What?" his eyes suddenly widened and his face paled before burning brightly. "MRS. PATMORE, REALLY!" he flustered and stared at the woman in horror. How could she even think that? He turned on his heel, both embarrassed and disgusted that she would make such accusations. But he did stop before he exited the kitchen and muttered, "And I am NOT three times her age!"

* * *

Mary kicked off her shoes as she settled down on the settee outside her bedroom at Number 10 Downing. She knew she had a great deal of work to do, including those reports Parliament was waiting for her signature on, but frankly her mind (and her heart) was just not into it. Of course, her heart hadn't been invested in very much since Gwen had seen to Matthew's "readjustment". A part of her had expected him to come storming into her office the day after she told Gwen, demanding to know why she had given that order. Or at the very least, she thought he might call or send a message or…or something.

…But nothing had happened. Not one memo, not one protest, not even a question about "why?" When she finally got up the courage to ask Gwen how it had gone, Gwen merely shrugged her shoulders and told her that while Mr. Crawley had been "surprised" by the request, he seemed to accept it gracefully, and before the morning was through, had emptied his desk and vacated Number 10.

Mary felt absolutely wretched. And on top of it all, she was a coward. Lord, she deserved his hatred, and probably had it massive supply.

Earlier today she had met her new press secretary, a Mr. Molesley. He seemed like a very nice man, very informative, and had worked with various key members of the party prior to gaining this position. Yes, he would fit in well with her staff at Number 10 Downing.

…But he wasn't Matthew.

"Telly," she groaned aloud. Yes, she needed to be distracted from…well, from anything connected to her job right now. Because it was her job that made her push Matthew out of her life. Or at least that was the present excuse she was giving her heart.

She picked up the remote control and turned the television on, smiling as one of her favorite late-night talk shows came on. "Oh dear…" she laughed as she saw who the special guest of the evening was.

"So Thomas, this all must be very exciting for you; for the first time in…how long?"

"Seven years," Thomas answered, as if already knowing the question the host would ask.

"Seven years since you've been on the top ten charts here in the UK, and now, just a week and a half before Christmas, you have a chance at being number one!"

Thomas grinned and smiled at the audience who were applauding, before lazily sliding back in his chair. "Yeah, it's a possibility," he sighed. "But not if things remain as they are."

"Oh?" the host asked. "Not looking good?"

"No, things are very bad at the moment," Thomas groaned. "One Direction is outselling me, 5 to 1—but!" he sighed, seeming to melt even further into his chair, like a large Persian housecat, "—I'm hoping for a late surge, you see." The audience laughed and applauded, and Thomas grinned back, and there did seem to be a wicked note to his chuckle, as if he knew something none of them did.

"You sound confident," the host remarked.

"Well, I am!" Thomas smiled. He then turned to the audience and the cameras, sitting up a little more as he spoke. "I'm saying this right here, right now—I promise, that if make it to #1, I'll sing the song, stark-naked, live on TV, on Christmas Eve."

Wild hoots of laughter and applause erupted across the studio. Even Mary was laughing at the very thought.

"You mean that?" the host asked, looking very amused by this so-called "promise".

"Of course I do!" Thomas grinned. "I'm saying this right here, live; I'm staking my career on this move! One Direction doesn't have the balls to promise what I just did, nor would they do it, but I WILL!" Thomas laughed, folding his arms across his chest and looking very proud. He then turned his focus on the host and what could only be called a flirtatious smile, suddenly lifted at the corners of his mouth. "Why do you ask? Don't mind me saying so, Michael, but you sound rather eager…" he winked at the host before jumping to his feet and undoing his belt, causing a massive gasp to escape from the audience, and from Mary as she watched the pop star sway his hips at the host. "Fancy a preview, you dirty bastard?" Thomas flirted, earning more whoops of laughter and applause.

Thankfully, the host was a good natured man, and he only laughed at Thomas' so-called "lap dance". "Thomas, I hate to tell you this," he chuckled, looking up at the musician before looking directly at the cameras. "But that will never make number one."

Mary found herself clapping along with the audience, clapping and laughing and grinning madly at the screen and Thomas Barrow's antics. Yes…this was exactly the escape she needed.

* * *

"Why would you tell them that?" Daisy groaned. William noted the stress in her voice as he entered the kitchens. He hadn't had time to get some breakfast that morning, and hoped that perhaps he could find a leftover scone to satisfy him until lunch. But he paused upon hearing the argument between sous-chef and chef, and quickly moved off to the side, trying as best he could to blend in with the background.

"This is a huge compliment!" Mrs. Patmore argued. "And it will do you some good to have something like this under your belt for when you go to that school! Having this sort of praise, even before you begin training, will look very good on a future application."

Daisy groaned again, looking even more irritated than before. "But it's Christmas Eve! I can't bake for an entire school on the same night my flight leaves for Paris!"

Mrs. Patmore folded her arms across her chest. "Daisy, I'm not asking you to bake a wedding cake for Prince Harry! These are school children! Just make those biscuits we serve here at the hotel—"

"This is a Christmas concert, Mrs. Patmore! It's going to be more than just a bunch of school children, but their teachers and families—it's too much to do!"

"Well, I can't do it!" Mrs. Patmore muttered. "I already told the woman that YOU were the one responsible for all those pastries we served at her daughter's wedding, and it was YOU she wanted! So if you're not going to do it, then tell me now, because I will call her right back!"

William looked at Daisy and saw the pretty sous-chef hesitate. He could tell she wanted to say no…but at the same time, he could see the conflict in her eyes.

"Of course…" Mrs. Patmore sighed. "Those kids will be disappointed; not having any refreshments at their reception. But if it feels like too much work, making so many dozens of biscuits—then you shouldn't do it. You know your limitations!" Daisy was glaring at the chef, but Mrs. Patmore simply shook her head, and poured herself a cup of tea…before adding, "I just thought you would be able to handle something like this, after baking, icing, and decorating three wedding cakes on the same day—"

"ALRIGHT!" Daisy all but shouted. "I'll do it," she muttered, before turning and stalking to the far side of the kitchen, far out of William's view and as far away as she could get from _The Edwardian's_ chef.

…And that was when the idea struck him.

He bolted from the kitchen then, and walked as quickly as his feet would allow (without causing any suspicion) and went directly to Mr. Carson's office. He knocked rather quickly, desperately wanting to speak to his friend. "Come in!" Mr. Carson answered, and William didn't hesitate, he slipped inside, his grin no longer able to be contained. "William?" Mr. Carson murmured, looking up at the footman. "Is everything alright?"

"Perfect!" William grinned. "I know what to do!"

"What to do?" Charles asked, his mind only becoming more and more confused. Still, he was glad to see the lad smiling. "What are you talking about?"

"I have an idea; I finally have an idea to not only get Daisy to notice me, but…if I'm lucky, to…well, to get her to at least think about me while she's away!"

Charles stared back at the footman…before smiling and nodding his head. "Well, that's wonderful! And um…what is this idea exactly?"

"Well, I was just in the kitchens, and I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I couldn't help it, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were arguing—"

"The point William, what's the point?"

William nodded his head. "Right, well, Daisy has been asked to make some desserts and sweets for some school's Christmas concert. She's afraid it will be too much work, but she's agreed to do it. And…well, you know that phrase, 'the way to a man's heart is his stomach'? Well…I think that applies to girls too, because girls are always going on and on about chocolate and sweets and—"

"William…"

"Right, sorry," he apologized. "Anyway, I thought…maybe I could help her? Bake some of the treats for her to ease the burden? I won't tell her, I want her to be surprised, and I won't take any of the credit if anyone asks…but…I thought, maybe by doing this, it will show her how much I care and how much she means to me?" he looked at Mr. Carson expectantly. "What do you think?"

Charles stared back at the footman with wide eyes, still taking in all the information his friend had just told him. "Well…" a smile began spread across his face. "I think it's brilliant…I mean that, William, I think that's actually a very brilliant idea!"

William was beaming, happy for Mr. Carson's approval. His opinion meant a great deal to him.

"But…there is one slight problem…" the concierge murmured.

Despite Mr. Carson's words, William continued smiling. "I don't know how to bake?"

Mr. Carson simply nodded his head.

William wasn't fazed. "An insignificant detail," he chuckled. "Besides, how hard can it be? Just follow the directions from a cook book!" he turned to leave and nearly bumped his head into the door.

Charles groaned and shook his head as William made his apologies, before opening the door and exiting the office properly, still grinning despite his near accident. "Oh dear…" Charles muttered to himself after the lad had left. "He's going to burn the place down."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	12. 2 Weeks to Christmas (part III)

_I won't say too much, as this chapter is a monster! BUT I will warn you to have some hankies ready. This one goes out especially to the R/C fans and the A/B fans. Hang in there everyone! Good things are a comin'! THANKS FOR READING AND COMMENTING!_

* * *

_Chapter Twelve_

**2 Weeks to Christmas (part III)**

"God, I hate these things," Robert groaned, taking another drink from his glass.

"You say that every year," Cora answered with a shake of her head. She was used to her husband's pessimism when it came to the office holiday party. "You always grumble and complain and I always ask, 'then why do it?' to which you reply…"

"I have to!" he answered, as if on cue. "I'm the CEO of a small business; it's expected that we have one of these things…" he took another long drink from his glass, finishing the scotch. "I don't know why I bother, though; everyone knows I'm a complete Scrooge."

"Scrooge?" Cora shook her head. "More like a Grinch."

Robert lifted an eyebrow at this. "There's a difference?"

"Of course!" Cora smiled, her hands going to his shirt collar and fixing his tie which had become askew. "One is a beloved children's book character who's fuzzy and green, while the other is a grumpy old miser. And you, my darling, are not a miser."

"Nor am I green and fuzzy," he muttered.

Cora giggled to herself. "No…but I'd much rather hug and cuddle Mr. Grinch than Mr. Scrooge," she leaned up then on her toes to brush her lips against his. "And the point of both stories is that at the end of the day, they both see the light and save Christmas…which you do every year, in your own way, when you help give one of these parties."

She was looking at him in that way that still caused his heart to soar, even after thirty-five years of marriage. "I don't deserve such praise," Robert muttered, feeling awfully bashful about the way she was talking. However, he couldn't help but smile and return the little kiss she had given him. "I especially don't deserve such praise when I have to ask you to do the dreaded…'circling'," he apologized.

But Cora shook her head, her smile never leaving. She was in a good mood tonight, and that made Robert happy. She had told him the other day that she found a caterer for her school's reception after the Christmas concert. One less stressful thing to worry about! And he knew she was looking forward to their trip back to Yorkshire for Christmas…and for their anniversary. _Thirty-five years this Boxing Day,_ he thought to himself. _I can't believe how quickly it's all gone…_

"Oh darling, we all have to do these little tasks," she said with a smile, before holding out her nearly empty wine glass to a passing waiter. "You endure my Christmas concerts, I can certainly endure 'making the rounds' and playing the role of 'good boss' wife' by chit-chatting with various people, especially the ones you wish to stay as far away from as possible."

"You're a gem, Cora," he sighed, kissing her cheek. He looked back and frowned then. "I never said your Christmas concerts were something to 'endure'," he protested.

Cora laughed and shook her head. "No, you've never spoken the words, but the amount of time I've caught you sitting in the back, wincing whenever a child would come to a microphone and sing some carol, I knew it was testing your patience."

He frowned a little at this, his face flushing slightly out of embarrassment. His wife laughed and then kissed his cheek. "Alright, I'm off," she sighed, taking a sip of her wine before putting on a dazzling smile. "Wish me luck!"

"You'll need it," he muttered under his breath before she turned. "Especially if you have to talk to Julian from HR," he groaned with a shake of his head. A fate worse than death, in his mind.

She kissed him again, gave him one last smile, before turning and beginning her circle around the room, thanking various workers for coming, telling them how lovely it was to see them all again, asking after them, their families, learning what their holiday plans were, and so forth. Cora was a natural at such things, and despite what his own mother would say, he truly believed that part of her charm was her "Yankee-ness".

A slight tap on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. He turned his head, and practically gasped at the vision that greeted him. "Jane!" She smiled up at him, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink, and she held out her hands, as if inviting him to take a good, long look at her. And despite himself, he did. "You look beautiful…" he murmured without thinking.

Jane giggled, her sleigh bell laugh tickling the air around his ears. "Oh gracious, this old thing?" she sighed, looking down at her dress. It was a deep crimson color, and it clung to her body in such a way that a man did not need an imagination to envision the luscious curves beneath the fabric. The hem stopped at her mid-thigh, and the neckline was quite low…thrusting her bosom up in such a way that Robert had to scream at himself to keep his eyes above her neck. "You're too kind, sir…"

Robert needed a refill—badly. "Well…I um…everything seems to be going wonderfully!" he attempted at the small talk.

Jane smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, I think everyone is enjoying the venue…" she glanced across the room at several other people, who were all gathered around the various nude pictures, either gawking or laughing while pouring themselves more booze. "The food really is delicious—I must thank you for giving me the information for Ivy's," she said with a smile.

"Oh! Well um…you're very welcome," Robert replied, still doing everything he could to keep his eyes above her neckline. The only problem of course was the way her ice-blue eyes seemed to draw him in…like a siren, tempting a ship.

"And the music is good too," Jane murmured, glancing over at the DJ.

Robert nodded his head. "Yes, I made sure we steered clear of the man who was in charge of music at my daughter's wedding," he attempted to joke.

Jane's sleigh bell laugh filled the air around them. She looked at Robert in a way that that caused his throat to tighten and made him want to pinch himself; was he dreaming? That such a gorgeous woman could look at him _like that?_

"Would you care to dance?" she asked with a sweet smile.

Robert's mouth fell open. "I…I…" he was blubbering like an idiot. "I um…" he coughed then, making a show of clearing his throat. "Won't your boyfriend mind?" he asked, pointing towards Evelyn Napier. He was surprised to learn that the distant friend of the Crawley family had a connection to the gallery where they were having their party. Had he known, he may have contacted Evelyn himself, rather than ask Jane to do all the work.

Jane glanced at Evelyn, who was moping all by himself in a corner, and then shook her head very quickly. "Oh no, no, he's not my boyfriend," she protested a rather too passionately. "And besides…doesn't a good secretary deserve a dance with the boss before his card starts filling up?" she teased.

Robert rarely danced at these things. Cora sometimes insisted that they dance, and so he tried to indulge her, but that was usually it. Quite frankly, he thought he was a horrible klutz, and dancing just seemed to make this all the more obvious. However…the way Jane was looking at him…holding her perfectly polished and manicured hand out to him…and her eyes looking at him like two soft, round, blue pools…and the way her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip…

"Alright," he all but squeaked, before taking her hand and swallowing the large lump in his throat, letting her lead him out onto the floor. Jane merely smiled…and before Robert realized what was happening, had taken his left hand in her right, and placed his right hand at her waist…and then quickly closed the gap between them, until her body was pressed against his.

_"Small talk!"_ his mind screamed. It was the only way to keep himself from shaking. "Well, as I was saying, Jane," Robert began, rushing his words a little too quickly. "You have done an excellent job; truly, you should give yourself a pat on the back."

She blushed then, and Robert felt his body tremble even more. "Why don't you pat my back for me, sir?"

His knees nearly buckled at her comment. "I…I beg your pardon?"

She grinned then, and leaned up, until her lips were close to his ear. "It's all for you," she whispered. "Everything…" she explained. "_All of this_…" Oh God, was it his imagination, or did she just press herself even closer to him? "It's _all_ for you…" She moved back then to the so-called "comfortable" distance they had been maintaining when they started dancing, but the damage to Robert's mind and body, had already been done. He had to be very careful, then, to keep certain portions of himself away from her.

Cora was talking with a few people from across the room. Someone made some comment about one of the pictures hanging overhead, depicting several nude men thrusting the lower half of their bodies in a rather crude and suggestive manner towards the camera. She turned her head to follow where they were pointing…but instead of looking at the picture, her eyes fell upon the dancing couple that was her husband and his secretary.

Cora didn't know Jane that well. She knew that the woman was new to the office, having only started sometime in November. Robert didn't talk about her much, but really, the only employees of his that she knew at all were John Bates and Anna. Cora looked at Jane…and suddenly felt herself cringe slightly.

She was much…younger, Cora realized. Not as young as their daughters, but…at least ten years younger than herself. She was also very pretty. Her dark hair had none of the gray that Cora tried to cover up, and her skin also looked impeccably smooth and creamy. And she knew it was natural, too—no, Jane was not one who had gone under the knife for the sake of her beauty. She also had a lovely figure, and the dress she wore was the sort that would grab the attention of any man. Cora found herself looking down at her own dress…a simple black velvet skirt that went all the way down to her ankles, and a long-sleeve black lacy top. She wore this because it looked very cold outside. And she couldn't recall the last time she had worn something that short…or that would show that much cleavage.

She swallowed and bit her lip, looking up and away from her clothes, and avoiding any surface that could show her reflection.

Thirty-five years. She and Robert had been married for thirty-five years (or it would be thirty-five by the time the 26th rolled around). In that time frame they had produced three beautiful daughters, each of whom Cora couldn't be more proud. And while their romance had been a "slight" whirlwind (his mother certainly hadn't approved of the two of them rushing to get married the day after Christmas) Cora always felt that she and Robert's relationship was solidly grounded on honesty, trust, and most of all, the deepest love. She couldn't be happier, even when they had their rows, and in thirty-five years they had had many…but despite those moments, the good times always outweighed the bad.

So this was what she told herself, when a different green monster, one that was far less fuzzy, and far less beloved than any character created by Dr. Seuss, tried to emerge within her. She told her heart and mind to not let jealousy win. Robert was _her_ husband, in the end. And Jane was hardly the only beautiful woman in the room.

…Yet seeing her dancing with Robert right now, seeing her smile up at him, hold him close, and seeing him hold her and smile back…

Something inside began to hurt. And Cora suddenly felt very, very inadequate.

* * *

The party had been going on for several hours. But she always arrived late to these things. Anna wasn't much of a "party goer"; she preferred quiet evenings at home, reading Jane Austen with a cup of tea, than going out to clubs and getting drunk. She also supposed it had something to do with the fact that she was and had been in love with one man for nearly seven years, so if he wasn't at the party, then really, what was the point?

There had been times in the past when John Bates didn't come. Anna remembered how one year in particular, she looked around and around for an entire hour, wondering where he was, until Robert told her John couldn't make it. There must have been some truth to what Robert had said about "everyone" knowing about her feelings for Mr. Bates, since she recalled how last year, she showed up and was told, not five minutes after walking into the party, that John wasn't going to be there. That had probably been the most depressing Christmas party she had ever attended.

But this year…she had a feeling. She wasn't sure why, especially since she had been feeling so depressed as of late about her situation with Mr. Bates, but yes, she had a strong feeling that this year…things would be different.

"The moment is now…" she repeated to herself while putting on her make-up for the evening. "Take control and make this your moment…"

After seven dress changes, Anna finally settled on a simple pale pink gown, one that the salesgirl had told her really brought a shimmer to her blonde hair. She hoped Mr. Bates would like it…she didn't think he had ever seen her in this color. She decided in the end to simply let her hair hang naturally, rather than put it up or pull it back into a braid. Her make-up was as natural as she could make it ("earth tones are best for your skin type," another salesgirl had told her), and her shoes, while meant to enhance her height, were by no means thin stilettos. Satisfied (or as satisfied as she could be) she departed, and then finally arrived.

The first friendly face she saw walking into the party was Cora—Mrs. Crawley. Cora had always been very friendly to her, and while Anna had never told anyone about her feelings for Mr. Bates, she had a feeling (especially now after her meeting with Robert) that Cora knew. Cora was standing by the table where wine was being poured, and Anna quickly moved across the room, murmuring a few "hellos!" and "Merry Christmas'!" to different people, before asking for her own glass of white wine beside Cora.

"Anna!" Cora said, turning and smiling at her. "Look at you!"

Anna blushed but smiled and ran her hands over her skirt, trying to smooth any wrinkles that she saw. "Thank you, Mrs. Crawley," she whispered, before murmuring her thanks to the bartender and taking a sip of her wine.

"I didn't see you earlier; I thought perhaps you weren't going to come?"

Anna shook her head, although her eyes were already scanning the room. "No, no, I um…just took a little longer getting ready, that's all."

Cora nodded, and Anna saw a small, knowing smile, spread across the woman's face. "Well, he's a very lucky man."

Anna blushed even brighter and took a bigger gulp of wine, partly for courage, and partly because she was nervous and she prayed the wine would help calm her.

"Well, you've just saved me, my dear," Cora remarked in confidence. "I've been 'making the rounds', and now that you're here, I can take a break and actually talk to someone I enjoy talking to!"

Anna laughed and blushed once more, but continued to scan the room, her eyes falling on Robert…who she noticed was dancing and laughing with Jane, his secretary. She frowned a little at this, and glanced out of the corner of her eye at Cora…who also happened to be looking ahead at Robert.

"Do you know Jane very well?" Cora asked, surprising Anna with her question. Indeed, the question nearly caused Anna to jump with surprise.

"Oh! Um…well, not that well, really. Her desk is bit of a distance from mine—"

"Robert seems to be on friendly terms with her," Cora remarked, taking another sip of her wine. Anna frowned at this and wasn't sure what she should say. "I mean, I know she's his secretary, and he was quite friendly with Mrs. Bird, back when she still worked at the office—of course, I don't recall Robert ever dancing with Mrs. Bird…" Cora all but muttered. "Nor do I recall him dancing with anyone really…three times in a row."

Anna bit her lip. How should she respond? Was Robert aware of this? About how things were looking right now? About how they looked to his own wife?

"Well…" she cleared her throat and put on a smile. "He um…he dances with everyone, because as the boss, that's his job, yes?" oh God, how pathetic did that sound? Her brain was telling her to stay out of this, to not get involved. None of this was any of her business, and she shouldn't be trying to make up explanations for her boss' behavior, especially when she didn't know the complete story. But she knew that a part of the reason she was "defending" Robert, if one could call it that, was because of how ardently he was pushing and rooting for her and John Bates.

Cora chuckled to herself, but it didn't sound like a pleasant, genuine chuckle of good humor. "Some more than others," she muttered under her breath.

Anna licked her lips, wondering if she should go and try and "cut in" between Jane and Robert, however she noticed Cora's expression change, and her eyes go wide, before she reached forward and took Anna's wine glass right out of her hands! Anna opened her mouth to ask Cora why she had done that…but all traces of speech escaped…when a voice murmured behind her, "Would you care to dance?"

Her face paled.

And then a deep, warm heat began to spread across her skin.

She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, and slowly turned on her heel…and felt the world stop all around her, as she looked up into the warm, smiling eyes, of John Bates.

"You look beautiful Anna," he murmured, his smile making his handsome face even more handsome in her eyes. "So…would you like to?"

"I…I…" Anna couldn't believe it. This was…the first time in all the time she had known him, this was the first time he had ever asked her to dance. It was just so unbelievable. "Me?" she squeaked, a part of her wondering if she should pinch herself. _Oh please, please, don't let this be a dream!_

John chuckled but nodded his head. "Yes, Anna…will you dance with me?"

"Go on!" Cora hissed in her ear. Anna looked back at her boss' wife and Cora was grinning widely, nodding her head in encouragement. Anna bit her lip…and felt a happy smile spread across her face.

She turned back to Mr. Bates and nodded her head. "I'd love to," she whispered.

He grinned and took her hand…and immediately, Anna felt the most wonderful warmth shoot up her arm and spread throughout her body…as John Bates led her out onto the dance floor, just as the fast-paced music suddenly slowed to that of a sweet, romantic song.

Her palms were sweating. Her knees were shaking. Truthfully, she was trembling all over! But despite how nervous she was about the possibility of stepping on his foot…she couldn't stop grinning. And even as her breath slowed and the butterflies in her stomach flew wild, she continued smiling…as she felt Mr. Bates' hand come around waist…before resting against her spine. Anna took his offered hand…and her other hand slid to his forearm…and together, they began to sway to the music.

_This is happening_…she realized. _I'm dancing with John Bates. Mr. Bates, __my__ Mr. Bates, asked me to dance with him. HE asked ME to dance! _Her head seemed to instinctually move to his shoulder…and soon she felt her cheek move until it was resting there, and still they continued to sway and move as the music enfolded them, very much the same way that his arms seemed to be enfolding her.

_Perfect_, she thought to herself as her eyes began to flutter close. The hand that had been holding hers, curled slightly…until she felt her hand, nestled comfortably in his, rest against his chest, just over his heart. Was it her imagination? No…his heart seemed to be beating just as rapidly as hers. And yet everything else had fallen away. It was just the two of them on this dance floor…

Indeed, it couldn't have been more perfect.

* * *

"Oh God…" Cora groaned, her head throbbing. "I'm going to have the worst hangover tomorrow; I can already feel the migraines coming on."

Robert looked at her with sweet sympathy…a look that Cora honestly didn't want to see at the moment. "Do you want me to make you some coffee?" he asked.

"No…" she groaned, unzipping the skirt of her dress and quickly shimmying it down her hips and legs. "No, that will just keep me up; the best thing I can do is take something to try and combat the pain before it hits and get some sleep," she muttered, stepping out of the skirt and returning it to the its hanger.

"Well…" Robert sighed, removing his jacket and undoing his tie. "I must say I thought tonight was successful!"

Cora chose to keep her mouth closed.

"Yes, for the short amount of time we had in preparing for that party, everything seemed to go splendidly."

Cora shrugged out of her blouse and carefully rehung it, before picking up her silk nightgown which was lying across the end of their bed. "Yes, Jane did a very good job…" she murmured as she slipped the gown over her head. "She seems to be quite perfect."

"I can't deny, I was impressed—although I think next time, if we ever find ourselves at a gallery like that again, I will make sure I go there and um…have a look to see what images we'll be surrounded by all evening."

Cora went into the adjoining bathroom and picked up a water glass, before reaching for some painkillers in the medicine chest. "And um…how are things going with her?"

"Her?"

"Jane…" Cora answered, trying very hard to keep her annoyance at bay. The last thing she wanted was to start a fight, but at the same time she couldn't deny, a part of her was spoiling for one. "You hardly ever talk about her…and I only ask because I know that she began in November…but she seems to be settling in well there?"

Robert nodded his head as he began to slip on his pajamas. "Yes, she seems to be getting along just fine."

Cora took the painkiller, although she wished it could calm the pain she was feeling rising in her heart. "I think tonight was the first night I met her," she murmured, coming back into the bedroom and moving around to her side of the bed. "And I must say…she is very pretty."

A pause fell across the room. An awkward pause.

Cora fluffed her pillow slightly and began to peel the covers back. She glanced over at her husband, waiting to see and hear his response. Robert did seem to pause in buttoning up his pajamas as the words settled around him. He then turned his head and looked at her…and put on a smile. "Is she?" he murmured, coming over the bed and settling down in it next to her.

If she hadn't seen the two of them dancing, if she hadn't seen the way her husband had looked at Jane…she probably would have been satisfied with his simple response. His comment would have left her thinking, _"oh Cora, you're being silly, letting this younger woman play on your insecurity and letting your pride and vanity rule your brain…"_

But she had seen them dancing. And she had seen her husband's face, as he looked down at the other woman before him…a woman who wasn't her.

"You know she is, Robert," she muttered in response to his words. There was no amusement in her voice. Not one hint.

She turned her back on him, not bothering to lean in and give him her usual goodnight kiss, and settled down beneath the covers, reaching over and turning the light off on her bedside table. "Be careful there," she whispered, mainly to him, but also to herself.

* * *

They had danced four times that night—FOUR! And three of them had been slow dances! Which meant that three times during the evening, John Bates had his arms around her. But it didn't just stop with dancing. After each dance, he would lead her off the floor, his hand on the small of her back, and they would either go and sit and talk like old friends who had been doing this sort of thing for so long…or they would walk around the room, looking at the art or talking with others…like a couple.

Just like a couple.

…And not once did his mobile go off.

Anna wondered if maybe she should pinch herself, to make sure she wasn't dreaming. As the party was winding down, John asked how she had come there. She blushed and told him she had taken the tube—her car was in the shop. "Can I offer you a ride?" he softly asked, and Anna thought that if she weren't sitting, she would melt into a puddle. All she could do was numbly nod her head—oh God, this night was getting better and better!

So here she was, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, her hands folded on her lap, but her fingers twisting over one another in both nervousness and excitement. He would smile and glance at her every so often from the driver's seat, and she would return the smile…but they didn't speak. No, they sat in silence together, but it wasn't awkward, amazingly. It was very…comfortable. And she loved it.

But as the car drew closer and closer to her flat, Anna began to fidget a little more in her seat. _Oh God, what's going to happen now? Is he simply going to pull up to the curb and wait for me to get out? Will he park the car? Will he get out himself? If he does, should I wait and see if he'll come around and open my door? Or should I just not assume such things and open it myself? Oh Lord…what if…what if he tries to kiss me? WILL HE TRY TO KISS ME? Do I even remember HOW to kiss? It's been over seven years since I kissed anyone! And if he does kiss me, how should I respond? Should I open my mouth? Should I expect tongue? Oooohhh good God, the very thought of John Bates kissing me, let alone kissing me with his tongue…ooohhh gracious, I'm melting at the thought! Lord it's hot…I wonder if I can roll the window down? But that will only spark further questions, and I don't dare do that—but maybe I'm getting myself worked up over nothing? Maybe he'll just give me a polite peck on the cheek? That would be lovely, but…if he does, I mustn't look disappointed! I must smile and show my gratitude…and…and maybe I can ask him out for dinner? What is he doing on Christmas? Maybe I can invite him over for Christmas? I can cook a small turkey! We can watch the Queen's speech and the "Doctor Who" Christmas special! Does he like "Doctor Who"? We could watch that other Christmas special, that period drama one? But does he like that sort of thing? Oh it doesn't matter what we watch, but I should ask him though…right, I'm going to do it, I'm going to ask him to join me, and—_

"Is this the place?"

Anna gasped, not realizing that they had reached her flat. How long had they been sitting there? She realized that not only had they reached it, but that the car was parked off alongside the road. "Y-y-yes," she stammered, blushing profusely. She tried to swallow the sudden nervous lump that had formed itself in her throat. _Be calm, stop panicking_. "Thank you, John—"

"Oh here, let me!" She had only placed her hand on the door handle, but John quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and was now rushing around to her side of the car to open the door. She watched and found herself blushing even brighter…but also smiling.

"Thank you," she murmured, as she took his offered hand and climbed out of the car.

"My pleasure," he replied, causing Anna's cheeks to burn even more…but despite her nervousness, she looked up and met his gaze…and swore her heart stopped beating.

The way he was looking at her…it was like the way she had been looking at him, all those years. There was something in the depths of his eyes, something…that she had only dreamed about. An emotion that matched what she felt in her heart, but had never believed could be possible. Was it?

"The ground looks a bit icy," he murmured, glancing away to their feet.

Anna followed his eyes and found herself silently nodding her head. She looked up at him then…and realized he had offered her his arm for support. Holding her breath, she wrapped her arm around his…and together, they walked towards her door. "I'm on the ground floor," she murmured, not sure why she was explaining this, but Mr. Bates simply smiled and nodded his head, as she fumbled for the keys, and tried to open the door as gracefully as possible, which was becoming an odd feat. The door to the building opened…and Anna noticed that Mr. Bates…was following her inside. She bit her lip, and tried (with great difficulty) to contain her excited smile. _I think he's really going to try and kiss me!_ But she also quickly told herself to not get her hopes up. After all, she had been waiting for something like this to happen in nearly seven years…

"This is me," she murmured, pointing to the door that led to her flat. "Number 1-A."

"A for Anna?" he asked with a chuckle.

She blushed but giggled back, quickly tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. Another moment of silence fell between them…only this time, it wasn't so comfortable. There was a charge in the air now…and Anna could feel the anticipation rising.

_Put your key in the door and turn it at the very least,_ her mind kept telling her. With a deep breath, she did just that, and this time, she wasn't such a klutz in trying to get the door opened. "Thank you, John…" she whispered, turning and smiling up at him. He stood in her doorway, but made no move to follow her. "Thank you for the ride."

"My pleasure," he murmured again, and Anna swore the charge was becoming more and more electric. _Something's going to happen…something really IS going to happen!_

A part of her brain screamed at her to ask him to come in, or at the very least to make her invitation to him to join her for Christmas (if he had no other plans), but all those thoughts faded…as she noticed his head, slowly moving towards hers…and slowly descending, until his lips…

…Grazed her cheek.

Despite what she had told herself, Anna couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

She put on a smile as he lifted his head away. "Good night, Anna," he whispered.

"Good night, Mr. Bates."

"John."

She blushed but nodded her head. "John," she repeated. Then, feeling a moment of boldness, she leaned up and brushed her own lips against his cheek. She lingered a little longer than she should, she knew, but it didn't matter. She smelled his cologne, she felt the heat from his body, and remembered how wonderful it had felt earlier, being held in his arms while they danced.

She took a step back and continued smiling up at him. "Thank you, again…"

"You're welcome." They lingered there for another moment, both of them looking at each other. He seemed to be leaning in, as if to say something to her, and she couldn't help but lean in to…hoping that perhaps he would say something—or do something else. But then a sigh escaped his lips…and took a step back. "I should go…"

"Oh…" Anna nodded her head with understanding, although in truth she didn't understand. Still, she knew she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up—feeling his lips on her cheek was more than she could have hoped for in the past, so she should just be thankful for what she had. She couldn't let the fact that they hadn't kissed, not in the way she wanted, not in the way she had dreamed about for so long, to ruin her evening. It was a wonderful evening—they had danced, they had laughed, he had driven her home, it was very much like a date, and she could pretend that it truly was. "Well…I don't want to keep you," she murmured. "Thank you again, for the ride. I'll see you on Monday."

He nodded his head, and with a resolute sigh, she stepped away the door and began to shut it. And just before the latch caught, she remembered the vow she had made to herself to invite him over for Christmas, and feeling brave, especially after such a wonderful night, she opened the door again, prepared to run outside if need be to catch him before he left—

Only to find that he was still standing there.

"Oh! John, I—"

"Anna…" He was looking at her intensely, his eyes dark and deeply penetrating hers. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared back at him, and she was sure her heart paused as it waited to hear what he was going to say next. "I…I actually don't need to go."

Her eyes widened then. "Oh?"

"No…" he replied…and then without any further warning, his head leaned in…and Anna felt her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned up…and met his lips with her own.

It was gentle at first. Their lips rose and met one another, and for the briefest, most beautiful moment…that was all there was. Just a simple brush of lips. And John's were wonderful—smooth and warm and sweet. And then…the kiss began to deepen. And their lips began to move. John moved his first, and Anna quickly responded. And slowly…they both sighed their mouths open…and the kiss deepened even further, and Anna moaned as John's tongue gently teased her own.

He pulled his head away then, and Anna stood there, gasping and blushing and staring up at him. He looked back down at her, his own face flushed and his chest rising and falling with short breaths. But he didn't look sorry for the kiss…and she couldn't help but grin at this wonderful realization.

His arms then moved around her, and Anna moaned again as his mouth met hers, and this time there was no slow gentleness with the kiss, this time they were both desperately kissing one another. Anna's arms came up and entwined around Mr. Bates' neck, her fingers tangling in the dark strands of hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer, opening her mouth a little more, and deepening the kiss further. She gasped as she felt his body move closer to hers, but she didn't back away, nor did she stop the kiss. Oh God, this is wonderful! It's everything I dreamed and even better!

"Anna…" he moaned against her mouth, pulling her even closer. She heard a slam then, and realized that he had just kicked the door shut with his foot. He murmured something that sounded like an apology, and she giggled, before resuming her kissing. "Anna," he moaned again, his lips now falling along her jaw, to neck, causing her to whimper as they found a sensitive spot just under her ear. "Anna, I…I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable—"

"No," she interrupted, holding his face and bringing it back to her mouth to kiss. She held the kiss for a long, good moment, before releasing him and letting them both catch their breath. "No, you…you couldn't," she admitted, blushing brightly, but meaning every word. "I…I want you to."

He looked at her in such a way that she felt her heart melt at the love and tenderness she saw in his eyes. His hand moved to her cheek then, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I want to, too," he admitted back. She smiled at this…oh God; she was positively beaming at this! Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this happening! When she was fussing over her make-up and trying to decide what dress to wear. After so many years of pining, after weeks of trying to build up the courage to talk to him, to ask him to join her for a pint or a bite to eat. After the disappointment of last Christmas, when she arrived at the party, only to discover that the one she truly wanted to see wasn't there. After all these things happening…here he was, holding her, kissing her, and…and telling that he wanted stay with her. He wanted to stay the night with her.

"Wait," she panted, stopping him just before he leaned in to kiss her again. He pulled back suddenly and looked worried, like he had overstepped a line or that she was having second thoughts. "I um…I just need a second, alright?"

"Oh…of course," he said, his smile nervous, but understanding. She touched his cheek with tender, reverent fingers, before moving around a corner where she was out of sight. Once there…she kicked off her heels and literally began jumping up and down, her eyes squeezed shut and her head thrown back in blissful, joyful happiness. _Alright, alright, get a hold of yourself! Don't keep the good man waiting! _

"Ok!" she announced, returning to where he was.

He smiled, his face still red and his chest still panting. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything is fine…" _Oh it's more than fine, everything is WONDERFUL!_ "Um…yes, that's done, um…" _get yourself together! Don't spoil this moment! _ "Um…will you give me…ten seconds?"

"Ten seconds?"

"Yes," she grinned, despite the blush on her cheeks. "Yes, um…meet me in there, in ten seconds," she pointed to a room just a few feet away.

John followed her gaze and then nodded his head. "Alright…starting now," he murmured, a bashful smile spreading across his face.

Anna silently squealed with glee, before rushing into the room she had pointed (her bedroom) and immediately began throwing all the discarded dresses she had been debating over, under her bed, as well as clearing anything else away that may look embarrassing. Once she was satisfied, she turned back towards the door…and just in time…because John was quietly entering the room.

He had removed his coat, she noticed. He was holding it in one hand…and paused in the doorway, as if waiting for her to let him in.

She rushed to him then, and threw herself against him. Hopefully that was all the invitation he would need. While they kissed, Anna felt his fingers move between them, tugging at his necktie, while her own helped him by shrugging his suit jacket off his shoulders. She began to work the buttons of his shirt, while he moved his hands around her back, searching for the zipper on her dress. "No, no, it's impossible to unzip," she confessed, pulling her mouth away momentarily. "Just…tug it."

"Tug it?" he questioned.

Anna nodded her head, and then bent down to lift the hem up, pulling the slip in the process. His hands quickly joined hers, and together with one mighty tug, pulled the dress up and over her head…leaving her standing there in nothing but her bra and knickers. Normally she would be feeling embarrassed at such exposure (no partner in her past would ever call her a "sexual goddess") but standing before John like this, she didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. It just felt…right.

He stared at her, his eyes wide as he took her in, and his hands carefully moved up to frame her face, his fingers tangling in her hair and smoothing it back after pulling the dress up. "My God, Anna…" he breathed. "You're so beautiful…"

His words were her undoing. She leaned up on her tip toes and moaned against his mouth as he met hers again in a deep, sweet kiss. His arms moved around her, she practically purred at the feel of his fingers moving up and down the skin of her spine. She pressed her body closer, her own fingers now helping him remove his shirt and slide it down his shoulders—

A shrill ring suddenly filled the room. Anna's eyes opened, and so did John's. They both stared back at each other as another ring filled the air. And then another. John stepped away and muttered a curse under his breath, before moving to his coat, which he had dropped near the doorway, and picked it up and began rummaging through the pockets, before finding it at last.

"Hello?" he sighed, sounding very irritated, but also trying to sound understanding. "Yes, yes, go on…" he glanced at her and Anna quickly turned her head. It was amazing in a way that throughout the entire evening, during the party and the ride back to her flat, not once did his mobile ring. But now, right before they were about to fall upon her bed and fulfill all those dreams she had been having for so long…did it choose this moment to interrupt them_. It could be worse_, a voice in her brain chastised. _At least it didn't happen while the two of you were—_

"No…no, I don't think I will be able to get the Prime Minister on the phone tonight…or the Pope."

Anna turned back then and stared at John with confusion. What on earth? Who was he talking to?

"Please…please don't…" he sighed and continued listening, before speaking again. "I'll look into it in the morning, alright? I'll call you back then, ok?" A few more murmured words were spoken on the phone…and then finally he hung up. Anna bit her lip and glanced nervously back and forth between his face and the mobile he held in his hand. "I'm sorry," he sighed, putting the phone back inside the pocket of his coat.

"It's alright," she mumbled.

"No, it's not," he answered, his voice sounding very frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if summoning patience from somewhere deep within. "Anna…there's…there's something you should know…"

She swallowed, not sure she liked where this was going. She moved her arms to cover her chest, suddenly feeling very, very vulnerable.

"That…" he looked down at the coat where his phone now lay. "That was my ex-wife."

Anna felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. His ex-wife? He had been married? Not that that should be too surprising in this day and age, but…how was it possible she hadn't known this until now? And Robert had never mentioned anything about his friend being married…unless he didn't know?

"She…she calls you?" she whispered, her voice low and soft. "She's the one who's been ringing you…all this time?"

John sighed and nodded his head, looking down at his feet. "Yes. She…you see, she's not well," he lifted her eyes and met her gaze. That passionate longing she had seen earlier was completely gone. And now, all she saw was sadness. And bitterness. And pain. "Vera," he murmured, and Anna actually flinched at the mention of the name. "Vera, she…she's always struggled with depression," he explained. "I don't think our divorce helped; in fact, I think it made it much, much worse."

What was he trying to say? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"She's tried to kill herself, twice," he explained, his voice sounding raw and tired. "The last time it happened, her heart had stopped beating. And when she was revived, she kept crying and telling me over and over that she loved me…"

Anna's hand flew to her mouth then, and she could feel tears sting her eyes. She could also feel her own heart stop beating at this revelation.

"She's in an institution now," he explained. "Some days she's alright…but other days…" he sighed. "Other days, she's not so good. She has no family left, none at all. In a way…I'm all she has."

God this hurt. Everything about it hurt. With shaking fingers she reached for a robe that was lying on the base of her bed, and quickly picked it up to wrap around her body. She felt so cold and numb.

"Does she…does she think you're still married?"

"No," he answered very quickly. "No, no, she knows we're divorced," he tried to assure, but the truth was, Anna felt no assurance. John sighed and shook his head. "It's just…very complicated…" he looked up into her eyes, and her heart broke a little then. "Perhaps…too complicated."

_Too complicated_. She knew what that meant. And yet she didn't contradict him either. He had just revealed that he had an ex-wife who suffered from severe depression to the point where she had to be institutionalized for her well-being…and that he was all she had. If the days were good, maybe she didn't bother talking to him at all. But if the days were bad, she had a way of contacting him…and now it all made sense, the strange and constant phone calls. But this also meant that if the phone rang…he _had_ to answer. She wouldn't expect anything less.

And as if on cue, the shrill ringtone filled the air once more. John sighed and hung his head. "Anna…I'm so sorry—"

"It's alright," she lied. "You should answer it; she probably needs you."

She didn't look at him then. It hurt too much to look. She simply put on a smile, hoping it looked genuine and full of understanding, and tied the robe around her waist. She picked her dress up off the floor, and went into her closet to hang it up once again, lingering a little longer than necessary.

She heard him answer, finally. And she heard his voice begin to grow distant, as well as his footsteps. She peeked outside the closet and saw that his suit jacket, tie, and coat had been picked up. Then, she heard the sound of the door to her flat shutting. And she knew then, that he had truly left.

And that was when the tears began to fall. Softly at first…and then in quick, heavy waves. Soon she was sobbing, her face contorted and her hands balled into fists, beating her sides as her heart and mind berated herself for letting him walk away. But what else could she do? It was clear that he belonged to another. It was clear that she would have to settle for a dream.

* * *

In another part of London, another woman was also crying, but silently, so as not to wake the man beside her.

Cora turned from her back onto her side, and hastily tried to wipe the tears away from her cheeks._ I'm being foolish; I'm making mountains out of mole hills. I'm letting feelings of inadequacy rule my brain!_ She kept berating herself over and over, and yet she couldn't stop wondering…and worrying.

They hadn't danced that night. She and Robert never had the opportunity to dance. If she weren't making small talk with various members of his staff, he was too busy doing the same. And everywhere he seemed to go…Jane was only a few feet away. Jane was fetching him drinks. Jane was bringing him food. At one point, Cora swore she saw Jane lean in with a napkin and wipe her husband's chin! Yes…Jane seemed to be doing more than just playing the part of "faithful secretary"…she seemed to be ready to step in and play a part far too close to Cora's heart.

And yet she didn't feel she could talk about these worries, these feelings of jealousy. She knew Robert would deny them and try to tell her that she had nothing to worry about. And in the end, she did feel she had nothing to worry about. She knew he loved her, she knew that deep in her soul. But…even so, to see another woman, a younger and very pretty woman like Jane, fawn over Robert the way she had…and to see that Robert clearly saw nothing wrong with it, or that he didn't think it looked like what it looked like to Cora…that hurt so much.

But really, who could she talk to about these things? No one, and certainly not her own daughters. No…she would have to conquer these feelings on her own.

Cora wiped her face again, and pulled the blankets even closer to her chin, curling up as tightly as she could into a ball, and tried to concentrate on the sounds of her husband's soft snores to lull her back asleep.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_I know, this one was sad :o( BUT HANG IN THERE!_


	13. 1 Week to Christmas (part I)

_AHHH! We're getting closer and closer my friends! As you can see, this story will not be finished by Christmas Day, but the plan is to have it finished by New Year's Day! (Which is during the 12 Days of Christmas, so technically, it's *still* Christmas) :oP _

_More emotional feels in this chapter, plus some funny scenes. Speaking of which, one of my *favorite* scenes in the entire movie will be appearing in the next chapter-I'm going to *try* and get that posted sometime on Christmas Day, but we'll see what happens. Thanks again for reading and please keep the comments coming! I love hearing from readers and knowing their thoughts! And have a wonderful, safe, and happy holiday!_

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen_

**1 Week to Christmas (part I)**

Jimmy groaned as he heard the insistent knocking on his flat door. The cold had lifted slightly in the atmosphere, but for the past few days it had been raining non-stop. Such weather always made him feel tired, and on his one day off, he had no plans of going out and attempting to deal with the last minute shoppers. He had just settled into a peaceful mid-afternoon slumber, when he heard the knocking. "Shut up!" he shouted in frustration, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. With a groggy head, he finally made it to the door and opened it.

"Hey!" Alfred grinned, and without waiting to be invited inside, pushed his way on in.

"Jesus, Alfred," Jimmy swore, frowning at his friend's state. He was soaked through and slopping water all over the flat's floor. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I need a lift!"

"What?"

"To Heathrow," Alfred explained, and without another word, threw off a giant backpack, the sort worn by hikers who would go camping for several weeks on end.

Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to summon his patience. "Oh no, not the America thing again."

"I told you I had my ticket," Alfred reminded him. "I am going…tonight, actually!"

"Tonight?" Jimmy asked, completely surprised.

Alfred only grinned and nodded his head. "My flight leaves at ten after six; so I'm going to need you to drive me and get me in no later than 4:30."

Jimmy stared at his friend, while Alfred helped himself to some crisps that were lying on a nearby table. He couldn't believe his ears…no, he couldn't believe this entire thing! Ever since Alfred had mentioned it all those weeks ago at that wedding, about how he should go to America to find his dream woman—it was stupidest thing Jimmy had ever heard (and that was saying something, since Alfred had come up with far madder ideas before). But unlike those ideas, Alfred always seemed to "come to his senses", even if it was at the last minute. He never followed through on these mad ideas.

But he was genuinely serious. He was determined to go to America, and make an absolute fool of himself.

"I can't believe it…" Jimmy sighed, sitting down on a chair opposite his friend. "I can't believe you're doing this."

Alfred only grinned and munched on another crisp. "The hell I am!" he laughed. "I'd be mad not to!" Jimmy only shook his head, but refrained from saying anything further. "So will you do it?"

"What?"

"Drive me to Heathrow?"

Jimmy groaned but despite his better judgment, nodded his head. After all, if Alfred didn't learn from his mistakes, he would never learn. "Yeah, yeah, I'll drive you."

"Fantastic," Alfred laughed, still grinning like an idiot as he reached for his backpack. "Guess what," he whispered to Jimmy, as if imparting some deep, dark secret. "This pack, it's not what you think it is."

Jimmy frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Think this is full of clothes?" Alfred opened a zipper on the pack and tossed a small, cardboard box at Jimmy.

Jimmy caught the box and looked at it. His eyes then flew up to Alfred's, wide and unbelieving. "You've GOT to be joking!"

Alfred just laughed. "And that's not the only box," he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "This entire pack is full of condoms!"

Jimmy groaned and shook his head. "You're incredible," he muttered, envisioning his friend being deported within twenty-four hours of arriving.

Alfred however didn't pick up on the sarcasm. Or if he did, he chose to ignore it. "Let's hope the ladies think that, too."

* * *

"So you've been coming here for three years?" Tom asked, staring at her with disbelieving eyes.

Sybil blushed but nodded her head. "That's right."

"And you've _never once_ explored Dublin?"

Sybil groaned, feeling embarrassed for her ignorance, but grinning all the same as she looked at his incredulous face. "Well…we're going to have to sort that out!" he declared.

And that had been the conversation they had had the day before she was to fly back to London. Her flight wasn't until the late afternoon, but Tom insisted that she see at least some of Dublin on her last day in Ireland. And if truth be told, she would take any excuse to spend more time with him. So here they were, in his car, all of her things packed in the boot, while he was driving her around the city, pointing out various landmarks here and there, telling her a few stories about those places, as well as showing her things that no "guidebook" would ever mention, but that were genuine gems to the city. Many of those sights included places that were dear to him, such as his favorite pub, the church where his parents had gotten married, his old school, and even the Dublin brownstone where the entire Branson clan gathered on Christmas day.

"If we had the time, I would offer you the chance to meet them," he murmured, looking a little bashful as he spoke. "But knowing my mam, she would insist that you sit down and eat at least four courses of whatever she's cooking and before you knew it, you'd have missed your flight."

_Is that such a bad thing?_ Sybil told her thoughts to be quiet. She didn't need her mind to join her heart in making things more complicated than they already were.

"So…you always celebrate Christmas in your mother's house?"

Tom nodded his head, grinning broadly. "Aye; mam insists. She likes hosting big gatherings—my cousins call her the 'Irish Martha Stewart'," he joked. "She loves cooking, and it's amazing the amount of food she'll make in that tiny kitchen, but every year she surprises us all. Twenty people, at least, every Christmas…and that's not counting the various boyfriends or girlfriends my siblings or cousins bring with them."

Sybil smiled at the image of the Branson brood gathered around a table, fighting over whom got the last piece of turkey, or shouting to be heard across the noisy table that no doubt had at least seven conversations going on at one time. Her Christmas celebrations had always been quiet, elegant affairs (Granny wouldn't have it any other way), but Sybil liked the idea of a "Branson Family Christmas" very much…and secretly longed to be a part of it. Although his last words, about boyfriends and girlfriends, did catch her attention and caused her ears to perk up.

"Yes…you um…you must offer my apologies to your girlfriend, for keeping you away these last few weeks."

She nibbled her lip and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking at her and there was a smile spreading across his lips, the sort of smile that caused a million butterflies to begin flying around in her stomach.

"Well," he began. "I would…_if_ I had one."

Her cheeks burned brightly, and she fought against the smile that wanted to spread across her own face at this revelation. "Boyfriend?' she asked, trying to look innocent when asking her question.

He threw his head back and laughed. "While I support equality for all people, no matter their preference or orientation, I have to admit, I've always fancied the ladies—but maybe that's just because I haven't met the right man?"

Now she was giggling, and they both had a good laugh as the drive continued. Of course, this new information caused the butterflies in her stomach to fly even faster. _He's single. Oh God, he's single! How is that even possible? _Their laughter began to fade and silence fell across them again as he continued driving. Now that she had her answer (one that she had secretly been hoping for quite some time), now what?

"And your Christmas?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. "What will you be doing?"

"My family tries to spend Christmas every year in Yorkshire…our 'ancestral home' is up there," she explained.

His eyes widened slightly. "Next thing you'll be telling me is that it's a grand estate."

She bit her lip.

"Wait—it _is_ an estate?"

She couldn't help but look a little sheepish at his wide, amazed eyes.

"Wow…ancestral estate, your sister is the Prime Minister, not to mention you're a world-famous author—"

"HA!" she laughed, blushing deeply. "I don't think so."

"You are to me," he murmured, and the blush on her cheek darkened immensely. Silence fell again as they continued driving. Sybil found herself playing with some loose threads on the end of her sweater. She didn't want this car ride to end, because there was only one place it could—and she wasn't ready to leave Ireland…she wasn't ready to leave _him_ just yet.

"There will only be six of us—well, seven now, that my sister Edith is married," she tried to explain. "Not as impressive as your mother's Christmas parties," she softly joked.

Tom softly chuckled as well, but he seemed to shift a little uneasily in his seat. "Seven…so that would be you, both of your sisters, your brother-in-law, your parents, and…?"

"My grandmother," she murmured.

"Oh!" he nodded his head, although Sybil wondered if there was a little bit of…relief, in his expression. "And…anyone else?"

"Oh yes, of course," she couldn't believe she had forgotten. Tom seemed to tense then, and while in some ways it warmed her to see (and hope) that he was tensing for the same reasons she had, when she had earlier tried to casually ask if he had a girlfriend…she couldn't bear to leave him in suspense. "My American grandmother will be joining us this year; it's also my parents' 35th wedding anniversary."

"Oh! Oh, I see…" he murmured after a while, and Sybil smiled to herself, looking down at her hands on her lap as she once again heard what sounded like relief in his voice. "I…I only ask because…because when my aunt asked if I could help while she was away, it was because this year, she said, you would be coming 'alone'…?"

Alone. Yes, Larry had joined her in the past. Now that she thought about it, she didn't know why he came; he always grumbled and complained about how there was nothing to do and he kept pressuring her to drive down to Dublin, and she tried to explain to him that this wasn't your 'typical holiday' but a time to get away and focus on her writing. He knew that the first time they went, and yet he complained even more the previous year about how bored he was. Honestly, what had she seen in him? Looking back, she couldn't believe how blinded she had been to a complete arse like Larry Grey.

"My boyfriend and I broke up just before my trip," she murmured, interrupting the silence.

Tom groaned and shook his head. "Sybil, I…I'm sorry, it's not my place to pry—it's none of my business, and I shouldn't have asked—"

"No, I don't mind…" she whispered…and she found that it was true; she really didn't. In fact, she found it rather liberating to finally get this entire thing off her chest. "I came home from my sister's wedding and found him and my cousin together in bed."

She gripped the door handle as the car swerved momentarily. "WHAT?" Tom asked, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief at her revelation.

She sighed and nodded her head. "Well, they weren't literally in bed, but…she was there, at my flat, and her…well, there was evidence that the two of them had been together, and Larry didn't deny it—"

_"Larry?"_ Tom asked, making a face. "The bastard's name is _'Larry'?"_

Yes, it did sound rather silly when he put it like that. And she couldn't help but grin at the way he had called Larry a "bastard". "It's true, he is a complete arse," she sighed with a shake of her head. "And he wasn't a nice guy in the end—even before this. He even told me, on my birthday, that I shouldn't eat so much cake, because I was getting fat."

"WHAT?" Tom looked at her like she had just told him that the sky was green and the ocean was orange.

She nodded her head, remembering the time. "He 'joked' that he didn't want a girlfriend with thighs the size of tree trunks."

The car actually skidded to a stop then. Tom stared at her and said, his voice rising with passion with every world, "Alright, there is NOTHING wrong with your thighs! And even if that were true, IT SHOULDN'T FUCKING MATTER! No matter what size you are, you're a beautiful woman and he should be falling on his knees, thanking God every day and night for being lucky enough to be the man in your life!"

His passionate declaration had left him panting and Sybil could see that he truly was angry at this revelation about Larry. But she it didn't escape her that not only had he told her that he thought her beautiful…but that he also told her that the man in her life should be thanking his lucky stars for being "the man in her life". _I was such a fool; why did it take me this long to realize that Larry was all wrong for me…and that during those past two years I was traveling to Ireland, someone better…much, much better…was here all along? _"I honestly don't know what I was thinking," she murmured, more to herself than to him, but he had heard her.

"Don't do that," Tom protested, reaching out and touching her shoulder with tender fingers. "It's not your fault that he's an ungrateful prick. Please don't blame yourself."

A shiver ran down her body at the way he defended her. The butterflies were soaring.

He coughed and released her shoulder, before putting his hands back on the wheel and resuming his driving. "Sorry," he muttered. "For swearing and shouting…I'm not sorry for what I said about him, though—"

"Me either," she whispered, and she smiled at him when he glanced over at her. Soon he was smiling, and everything seemed right again.

* * *

Elsie was enjoying a cup of tea just after finishing her lunch, when her mobile rang. She glanced at the tiny clock on her desk, realizing that she had enough time to take the call, and wasn't surprised to see who the number belonged to. "Hello Beryl," she answered.

"Oh good! I was afraid I would get your voicemail," her friend muttered.

Elsie sighed and shook her head, laughing softly to herself. "And to what do I owe thee?" she asked, pausing to take a sip of her tea. A frown suddenly darkened on her face as she recalled coming to see her friend at the hotel where she worked, and how Beryl had left her "high and dry". "This better not be another insistence to visit—"

"Look, I've apologized about that now, how many times?"

"Not enough," Elsie grumbled. "Do you know how cold it was that day?"

"Didn't Mr. Carson keep you company?"

Elsie felt her face grow hot at the sudden mention of the hotel concierge. Indeed, the man had not only been a complete gentleman to her, but had also been a great delight to get to know better. She had only just met him, and yet he had proved to be an extremely easy person to talk to and be around.

She cleared her throat and tried to sound stern. "That's not the point—"

"Then what _is_ the point?" Beryl groaned. "Look, Elsie, the reason I'm calling does have _some_ connection to the hotel…"

Elsie groaned and tapped her fingers against her desk, waiting for her friend's inevitable busy-bodying.

"I want to invite you here, on Christmas Day," Beryl finally explained.

Elsie frowned. "To _The Edwardian?"_

"That's right," Beryl answered. "The staff here—well, those of us who can get away from work and who aren't traveling to be elsewhere—have a fine meal, prepared by myself, of course," she stated quite proudly.

Elsie wasn't sure she liked the sound of this. "I don't know; I've never been one for big parties full of strangers—"

"Which is exactly my point about why you need to go out and meet more people!" Beryl grumbled. "But this doesn't happen to be a 'big party'…in truth, it's very small. If you come, it will merely be a gathering of five people."

Five people? Indeed, that was not a large party, and as much as she muttered against her friend's interfering and insistence that she get out more and do things away from her work, Beryl did make a good point.

"Mr. Carson will be there."

Elsie nearly dropped the mobile. "W-w-what?" she stammered.

"Are you alright, Elsie?" Beryl asked. "You sound…funny."

Elsie's face was burning brightly. "I'm fine!" she lied, coughing slightly to cover up her embarrassment. No doubt her friend could _hear_ her blushing. "I nearly split tea on myself," she lied.

"Ah, of course…" Beryl murmured, and Elsie rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, I was saying that Mr. Carson, the concierge here, he'll be at this dinner party. So see? That's two people you know! You'll be fine!"

Elsie swallowed and glanced at her clock again. She needed to get back to work, but she also knew that if she didn't give Beryl an answer right now, her friend would end up calling every hour and leaving endless voicemails, each with a message meant to make her feel guilty.

…And yet, she didn't have any plans for the holiday. Her first Christmas in London, and the thought of spending it by herself wasn't one she was looking forward to. And Beryl was right; at least she would know more than one person at this party. And…_it was Mr. Carson_, after all…

"Alright," she answered, hoping she wouldn't regret it later.

She must have astonished Beryl with her answer; usually her friend had to ask (or beg) at least three times, before resorting to using guilt. However, trust Beryl Patmore to recover quickly. "Well…good!" she finally answered with what sounded like a very satisfied smirk on the other end. "I'll be sure to tell Mr. Carson that you're coming."

Elsie glanced at her clock again. She had enough time to ask at least one more question. "And um…how is Mr. Carson?"

"Oh he's fine," Beryl answered. "And I know he'll be happy to learn that you'll be joining us."

Elsie felt her heart lift at this, as if she were a young woman all over again. "Really?"

"Oh yes, in fact, when I told him I was thinking of inviting you, he sounded very pleased—the two of you must have gotten along very well!"

Elsie was blushing again, but the truth was she wanted to hear more! "So…what did he say, exactly?"

"About what?"

Elsie groaned. _Don't try me, Beryl, I'm in no mood!_ "You said he sounded pleased when you mentioned you were going to invite me to join you all for your Christmas gathering—so…what did he say exactly?"

"Oh that! Well, he actually said—DAISY, WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME IS THAT SMELL?"

Elsie winced at the sudden shriek. "What?"

"Sorry, Elsie, kitchen emergency! I think we're about to set the smoke alarms off!"

What? She was going to leave her hanging like this…_NOW? _"Beryl, what did he say? _WHAT DID MR. CARSON SAY?"_

"I'm sorry Elsie; I really can't talk right now! I'll see you at three o'clock on Christmas Day! That is if the hotel is still standing by then! _DAISY!"_ And the call ended.

Elsie pulled the mobile away and stared back at the screen, her face a mixture of shock and the incredible need to throw the blasted thing across the room. However, despite the temptation, she resisted. Oh, it would be _JUST LIKE_ Beryl to say something like that, and leave her wondering for the next few days what it all meant.

…But then again, she did find herself smiling. _Mr. Carson is pleased that I'll be coming…we've only met the one time, and yet…he was happy about the possibility—_

"Oh stop it," she grumbled to herself. "He may have simply been polite and friendly, and Beryl is just doing the thing she normally does—make mountains out of mole hills."

Still…it was a nice thought; knowing that somewhere out there, the person who had been flooding your thoughts nearly every waking minute…may possibly be thinking about you just as much.

* * *

She was standing just a few feet away from the last security check-point she would have to go through at the airport…the one that separated passengers from their loved ones who weren't traveling with them.

Tom insisted on carrying her suitcases for her, and she didn't protest because if truth be told, she wasn't ready to see him go, not yet. He even went so far as to tell her he was willing to stay until he knew her plane was in the air, just in case if for any reason her flight was canceled, she wouldn't be stranded at the airport. She smiled at this and tried to protest, but he told her he insisted. She didn't argue the point any further; she didn't trust herself to do so. The emotional lump in her throat was getting larger and larger—and her heart was beginning to hurt at the thought of having to leave him. _Oh it's been hurting ever since last night, when you knew today was your last day here._ Yes, that was very true.

She knew she couldn't linger much longer; she would need to board her plane, and because it would take her just a bit longer to get to the gate with her crutches, she needed to do it soon.

And yet…she felt like she was leaving a piece of her behind. No, she _knew_ she was.

"Well…" she sighed, biting her bottom lip as she glanced at the security line. Despite it being one week before Christmas, the airport didn't seem to be that busy, nor were there many people in the que. "Thank you again, Tom…for everything," she murmured, turning to him and giving him a genuine, heartfelt smile. "I…I don't know how I would have managed without you…" she laughed as she recalled her late-night phone call when the heat had stopped. "I probably would have frozen to death in that bed."

He smiled back and stuffed his hands inside his pockets. "Well, you could always thank me by sharing 50% of the profits from your next book," he teased.

"50!" Sybil gasped. "5%."

"Only 5%? I dove into a freezing pond to retrieve your runaway pages," he said with a slight poke of his finger.

She teasingly rolled her eyes. "Yes, to which you were unable to retrieve."

"Only because you had fallen in and someone had to save you," he teased back.

She opened her mouth then, and quickly closed it, blushing furiously as she recalled (all too well) being held in his arms and carried back to the cottage, and later him holding her cast and tenderly drying it with his hands. "Oh fine," she huffed. "10%, final offer."

He laughed and despite the sad emotion she was feeling at having to leave him soon, she couldn't help but grin at the sound. Oh God, she was going to miss that, the sound of his laughing. Oh God, she was going to miss him.

"Deal," he said with a nod of his head. "Or you could simply name that new character after me," he said with a wink. Sybil quickly looked at the ground. _Oh if you only knew…_

"This is the final boarding call for flight 827 London, Heathrow!" a voice announced over a loud speaker.

Final boarding call. She had to go. No, no, it was too soon! She looked up at him and saw that the teasing mirth he had been sharing with her was gone now. Like her, he too looked upset that this moment had come.

"You'll let me know, won't you?" he asked suddenly. "When you come back to Ireland?" He looked desperate, and Sybil tried her best to swallow the painful lump in her throat.

"Of course," she somehow managed to say, even though it was hard to speak. She tried to smile, but it was so difficult—her vision was beginning to blur due to the tears in her eyes.

He took another step closer, until he was only a few inches away; they were practically standing toe to toe. "Or you could come back? _Before_ next December?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "There's still so much more of Dublin for you to see and explore…"

She smiled at this, despite the tears that were threatening to fall. "Will you be my tour guide?"

His eyes bore into hers, the blue in them so intense. He took a deep breath, and whispered, "I'd like to be more…if you'd let me."

Her breath caught in her throat at his words. Oh God…was he…was he…?

"Sybil…" his voice was low and husky, his accent thick. "I know you've been hurt, and I know in many ways I'm still just a stranger…but…but _bet on me_, and I promise—"

She couldn't listen to this anymore. It was too much. It was just _too much_. So she did the only thing she could think of doing, to get him to stop making wonderful, beautiful promises that she was too afraid to believe in. She leaned up, and with the help of her crutches, pushed her lips clumsily against his, silencing his words with a kiss.

It was brief. Far, far too brief. But she didn't dare linger, even though she dearly wanted to.

The kiss had surprised him, and he stood frozen, staring down at her in shock as she stumbled away, catching her balance with her crutches. "Goodbye," she whispered, before quickly turning and hobbling away as fast as she could, through the last security check-point, the rules of International Flight and Safety being the only thing that was keeping him from following her.

She didn't look back. Even though both the feminist and the seductress in her mind were screaming at her to do so, she ignored them and kept hobbling forward, through security, all the way to her gate, and ultimately onto the plane and into her seat. And only when she was seated…and the plane began to move away from the airport, hasten down the runway, and take off into the air…only when Ireland began to fade from view as the plane ascended into the heavens…did Sybil look out her window, and unleash her tears.

She had been with Larry for years; they had lived together, traveled together, and she even thought at one point they were going to get married and have a family together. And yet despite all that, when she discovered the truth about him, she had barely shed a tear.

Now…this one Irishman, who she had only known for a few weeks, who had never dated (officially) or who she had barely kissed…

She couldn't stop crying.

Tom Branson was, in many ways, still a stranger to her. And yet…she felt she had known him her entire life.

The tears didn't stop, not even after she landed back home in London.

* * *

"It's not too late…" Jimmy attempted to reason with his friend one last time.

Alfred shook his head. "I'm going, Jimmy, and that is final."

Jimmy groaned. "You'll be a broken man," he warned.

Alfred could only grin. "You're right," he said with a nod of his head and wicked gleam in his eye. "Back-broken from too much sex!"

"In your dreams," Jimmy muttered, but Alfred didn't hear. He looked so happy and so excited. It truly was a shame that he would return, utterly disappointed. Jimmy actually felt sorry for his friend. But once again, how else would Alfred learn? He had done everything he could to prevent his friend's humiliation. But Alfred wouldn't listen. So it was time to let him learn the hard way.

"Alright," Alfred said, grinning as they stood before the security check-point at Heathrow. "Well…I'll be seeing you sometime in the new year!" he said, extending his hand to Jimmy's for a shake.

Jimmy forced a smile and shook Alfred's hand. "Good luck," he murmured, not really knowing what else to say.

Alfred laughed and patted Jimmy on the shoulder. "I'm not going to need it," he grinned. "But thanks!"

Jimmy stood and watched with a resigned expression on his face as Alfred went through security. Once on the other side of the line, he turned back to face Jimmy, who lifted a hand to wave goodbye, although in truth it was like lifting a hand to salute a fallen comrade.

"FAREWELL BRITAIN!" Alfred all but shouted to Jimmy, and anyone who was willing to listen. "AND FAREWELL FAILURE! AMERICA…WATCH OUT BECAUSE HERE I COME!" he started laughing then, as if he had just made the funniest joke in the world. Jimmy only rolled his eyes. "HERE COMES ALFRED NUGENT! AND HE'S GOT A BIG KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOB!" he sang out for all the world to hear, before turning and dashing as fast as he feet could carry him to the gate where his flight awaited.

Jimmy sighed. "He'll never even make it to America; he'll be lucky if they don't throw him off the plane somewhere over the Atlantic."

* * *

_To be continued..._

_...And get ready for Alfred's American escapades in the next chapter ;o)_


	14. 1 Week to Christmas (part II)

_Ugh, I'm sorry for how late this is. I really wanted to get it posted by Christmas Day, and then things got complicated and busy and then some writer's block hit, and yada yada yada, here it is, three days later than I had originally planned :o( BUT AT LEAST IT'S HERE! I'm *still* hoping to get this finished by New Year's Day, we shall see! So here is this chapter, and I am going to go and work on the next one right away!_

_Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy. ALSO...just a quick shout out to "Alfred's American Hotties"-**ladyannacrawley**, **gothamgirl28**, and **shanarose** , who kindly let me borrow their names for this story ;o) I hope you like it! I dedicate this chapter to you three! THANKS AGAIN FOR READING!_

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen_

**1 Week to Christmas (part II)**

Alfred burst out of the airport in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a great cloud of air escaping his mouth due to the extreme cold. Yet despite it and how much he was shivering, he threw his fists up into the air, and smiled happily. "I'm here…" he whispered to himself, before throwing his head back and shouting to the world, "I'M HERE!"

He then rushed forward to a cab that had pulled up outside the airport and directed the driver to immediately take him to "your average American bar".

Twenty-minutes later, Alfred was walking through said "average" American bar, his grin never fading as he walked right up to the bartender and ordered a Budweiser (he wanted to fully assimilate to his surroundings).

And not two seconds after he had made his order…

"Oh my God…"

He turned to the feminine voice just to his left…and his wide grin only grew more and more.

The woman sitting at the bar but a few feet away from him and been sipping some fruity pink drink with her back turned just slightly. Now she was looking straight at him…and Alfred felt his blood pressure rise.

Upon first glance, some may call her "nerdy"…but Alfred always had a thing for girls with glasses. Not to mention they were those "sexy librarian glasses" that had filled many a fantasy. She had long brown hair, pretty pink lips which she was deliciously nibbling between perfect white teeth, and there was a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes. And she was smiling…at him.

"Are you from England?" she asked, leaning a little closer, her voice just a little husky.

Alfred smiled and felt his chest puff out a bit. "Yes…yes I am." _ And I am all yours..._

"Oh my God, that is so adorable…" the girl giggled, pushing her glasses up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that adorable way that only girls could do. Alfred's fingers itched to brush that hair back himself. "I'm Hannah by the way," she purred, leaning across the bar and extending her hand to him.

Alfred wasted no time and took it in his, as well as quickly removing his winter cap. "Alfred," he quickly answered, his smile only widening further.

"Oh my God, seriously?" the American dream girl named Hannah giggled again. "Like…Batman's butler?"

Alfred only nodded his head. He liked comic books, so he didn't find that reference demeaning or insulting. And by the way she was looking at him, her eyes raking over him, causing her glasses to shimmer in the bar's light…he couldn't help but nod his head with great confidence.

"I've never met anyone named 'Alfred' before," she murmured. "It's kind of sexy…"

Alfred did his best to look cool and confident, when on the inside he was throwing his fists into the air and shouting happily.

"Hey Kristen!" Hannah called over her shoulder. Alfred's eyes followed hers and gawked a second time, as another woman turned to face him. She was wearing tight jeans that hugged her curves in such a way it left little to his imagination…and he had quite the imagination.

"Yeah?" she answered, her voice soft and sweet, but also very, very sexy.

"Come meet Alfred!"

Alfred couldn't believe his good fortune. THEY KNEW EACH OTHER? And not only that, but they were clearly friends too. "Hi Alfred," she murmured with a sweet smile. She had medium brown hair, but when she moved under the lights, he could see gold highlights shimmer, as well as some red. Almost like a halo…glowing over her. Which was a perfect description because she truly reminded him of an angel. His American angel. "Cute name…" she giggled, extending her hand to him, and just as he had done for Hannah, he quickly shook it. "I'm Kristen," she introduced.

"Alfred is from England," Hannah whispered in her friend's ear.

Kristen, who was already sweetly smiling at him, seemed to smile even more at this revelation. "Oh really?"

Alfred nodded his head. "I work in London, but I'm originally from Hereford," he explained.

"Ooooh…" both Hannah and Kristen replied, clearly showing little interest in where he grew up (if they knew about Hereford at all) but he was honestly fine with that, enjoying the way they were admiring him. He couldn't help but smile with confidence.

"I like your hair," Kristen murmured, reaching up and running her fingers through it without even being asked. Alfred didn't mind; she could run her fingers through his hair anytime she wanted! _She can touch me ANYWHERE she wants, too! _

"It's so red!" she giggled, her fingers still running through it.

"We say 'ginger'," he explained, eliciting a sweet giggle from both of them.

"Reminds me of Harry Potter's best friend," Kristen murmured.

"But much cuter," Hannah added.

"Definitely," Kristen agreed. Her fingers were working some wonderful magic, and Alfred couldn't help but close his eyes and enjoy the feeling of having his scalp massaged and cooed over by his American Angel. Maybe his American Dream Girl would join her?

"OH!" Kristen stopped her massage and Alfred couldn't deny he pouted slightly. But as he looked up at her, he noticed she was looking across the bar towards the door he had just walked through. "Oh Hannah, Shana's here!"

Hannah laughed and waved a hand at Shana. Alfred turned his head and felt his mouth fall open as he took in the sight of the latest American beauty. "Shana is crazy about English guys," Kristen whispered in his ear.

"Hey girls," Shana said with a sexy smile. She was wearing a Stetson hat, like the sort worn by country music stars. Hers was a soft brown, with silver thread that gleamed in the bar light as she walked in. Her hat was tilted over her eyes, but she lifted it slightly and Alfred felt his heart stop at the gorgeous way her eyes locked with his, shimmering in the light and full of seductive promises. "And who do we have here?" she purred, slowly walking up to the bar where he sat.

"This is Alfred," Hannah grinned. "And he's from England."

"Oh really?" Shana asked, smiling at Alfred and sauntering up to him with a special sashay of her hips, her leather boots thumping just so on the floor as she approached. Alfred had never fantasized about a cowgirl before, but he knew from this day on he would…and it would be Shana. "Well…I'd say this round is on me then," she grinned, sitting down on a bar stool next to Alfred. "Hello gorgeous," she purred, not wasting anytime and leaning in and kissing his cheek. She removed her hat then, and shook her head, letting her gorgeous reddish golden-brown hair, like flames sparkling from a fire, shake out and fan her head, before settling and moving closer, until her body was practically pushing against his arm. She was a goddess, pure and simple.

His American Goddess on one side. And on his other, his American Dream Girl. And scooting closer, until she was practically sitting on his lap, his American Angel.

God bless America, indeed!

* * *

The place was a tomb.

At least that was what it reminded Sybil of. She had been dreading this moment, coming home and seeing the bungalow once again. Even though there was still a great deal of furniture, the place for the most part seemed empty.

Larry was gone. To where? She didn't know. Nor did she care. But all of his things were gone, even a few things that technically belonged to the both of them, he had taken, but that was fine. If truth be told, she didn't want any item that an ounce of a memory from her old life—back when she was blind and didn't really understand what Love was.

On her first night back in London, Sybil couldn't stand it; she broke down the second her foot stepped through the door. She quite literally crumpled to the floor, her crutches limply held in her hands, as she cried and moaned, but not for Larry or the memories of what had happened. But for what she had left in Ireland, and the memories she knew she would carry forever.

Her first night back in London, Sybil checked into a hotel. The thought of sleeping in that bed, even with fresh clean sheets, was too much. The next night, like a frightened, wounded dog with its tail between its legs, she went to her sister Edith and asked if she could sleep on their couch. Edith embraced her and gave her a proper bed (they had a guest room) and told her she could stay for as long as she liked, but Sybil knew she couldn't do that. She didn't want to steal her sister's "newly wedded bliss" thunder. So she decided the next day to sell it, and began process of packing her things to place in storage, until she could find something else.

Edith insisted on helping, so she came over and together they packed Sybil's things, her books, her music, her various knick-knacks; Sybil spent the latter part of the afternoon going through the paper and circling advertisements for potential flats. Sometime near six, Edith announced they were taking a break, and ordered a pizza for them both. Now here they both were, sitting on the floor of Sybil's soon-to-be former bungalow, eating pizza and drinking wine. Well, Edith was drinking wine. Sybil was having something altogether different.

"That's your second one," Edith remarked, taking note of Sybil's newly opened Guinness bottle.

"So?" she was far from drunk, why was Edith looking at her strangely?

Edith shook her head. "I've never seen you drink two pints of Guinness in a row; didn't know you were such a fan of the stuff. Something you picked up in Ireland?"

Sybil's face darkened and she quickly turned away, stuffing her mouth with some more pizza to prevent having to answer.

"How…was…Barbados?" she asked between mouthfuls.

Edith smiled, but Sybil noticed that in her sister's eyes…she looked…sad. "It was lovely!" Edith answered. "We got everyone something, but you'll have to wait until Christmas before you can know."

Sybil smiled back, but she was concerned for her sister. "Is everything alright?" she whispered.

"Of course! Why do you ask?"

Sybil frowned. "You just…seem…troubled."

Edith's smile faded then and now she was the one looking away. "I…I'm afraid I hurt a friend of mine," she whispered. "And…I don't think there's anything I can do to make things better."

Sybil's frown deepened. "What about talking—"

"It's not that easy," Edith shook her head. "In truth…I think I'll only make things worse."

Silence passed then. Sybil wasn't sure really what else could be said, and even though she was curious, she knew that if her sister wanted to know who this friend was, she would have told her.

"Tell me about Ireland!" Edith asked, changing the subject. "If all goes well with the Christmas Special, Anthony is thinking we may have some time to go on holiday later this winter. And since you're always talking about how beautiful Ireland is in winter—" Edith stopped when she saw her sister wipe frantically at her cheeks. "Sybil…what is it? What did I say? Oh!" Sybil was sobbing now, and Edith stared at her with a mixture of horror and worry, before quickly moving to her little sister's side and hugging her tight. "What is it? What's wrong?" she rocked her and Sybil let her, a sign that she truly was upset, since Sybil had been notorious during their childhood for putting on the façade of cool strength whenever she was sad.

Sybil took a few deep breaths between sobs, and finally pulled herself away. "It's nothing," she muttered, knowing it was a lousy excuse and naturally her sister would question it, but she kept repeating the words over and over, as if trying to make Edith believe them. "Really, it's nothing…I…I'm just feeling a little…fragile right now."

Edith lifted a skeptical eyebrow at this. "Fragile? You? The woman who kicked Larry Grey in the groin and then proceeded to break his jaw and nose, after he broke your toes and sprained your ankle?"

Sybil just rolled her eyes.

Edith seemed to think that was the link to this whole thing. Clearly it had to have something to do with Larry and returning to London after a long holiday, and deciding right away to move out. "Sybil…" she began, trying to be understanding and gentle. "Maybe…maybe moving out isn't the answer? I mean, why should you? Wouldn't it be better 'revenge' to reclaim this house? By all means, get some new things if you'd like—but perhaps moving out because of Larry—"

"I'm not moving out because of Larry!" Sybil groaned. Edith stared at her in surprise, and Sybil looked down at her hands. "Well…not entirely because of Larry," she mumbled.

Edith leaned closer. "What's this really about?"

She groaned again and looked up at the ceiling. "Edith—I quite frankly couldn't care less about Larry Grey anymore. If you told me that he and Rose are shacked up in Scotland somewhere, I wouldn't care. Nor would I care if you told me that they weren't—and that's not an invitation for you tell me what you know, because I truly DO NOT care," she stated, trying to be clear. She looked down at her hands once again…hands that not so long ago had held those of a certain Irishman for the briefest of moments. "I'm actually not angry at Larry for what he did…I'm angry at myself for being blinded all this time."

"Oh Sybil!" Edith immediately began to protest. "No, darling, I will not let you take the blame—"

The exact same words Tom had said to her. Her heart ached at the memory. "I want to start new; a fresh start, a new life, one without connections or memories of Larry, and not because he cheated, but because…because I didn't realize then what I realize now in how…how Love should be."

An awkward silence fell between them then. Edith wasn't quite sure what to say. But she couldn't deny she was curious. She had been joking earlier, but…_had_ something happened in Ireland?

"You know, I still remember what you told me, back when I was in university and failing all my classes because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life…" she murmured, smiling at the memory. "You were still in school, but I remember coming home that Christmas, depressed because I was going to be yet 'another disappointment' to Mama and Papa while Mary continued to dazzle…and you came to my room with a notepad, and sat down with me, making lists of everything I loved, to help me discover ways in which to take those things and make the life I wanted to make…not the one that was expected of me."

Sybil bit her lip and looked down again. That seemed so long ago, but she did remember it very well.

"You said, 'it's doing nothing that's the enemy'," Edith murmured with a smile. "You helped me, Sybil; as cliché as it may sound, you helped me 'find myself'; and I'm convinced that if it hadn't been for you, I would either still be looking and trying to make sense of it all, or be locked away in some job that I hate." She reached forward and took her little sister's hands in one of hers, and with her other hand, lifted Sybil's chin until their eyes met. "You've helped both Mary and myself discover who we are; I think we can all agree that the true political power in the Crawley family is—"

"Granny?" Sybil piped in, giggling a bit.

Edith tried to regain her composure, but it was quite funny. "No, silly, I was talking about you!" she lightly swatted Sybil's arm. "You helped Mary see where her gifts lay…just as you did for me. You helped the both of us find our paths…" she released Sybil's hands then, and slowly began to stand up, before extending a hand to help Sybil off the floor. "And now, my dear, it's time for you to 'find yourself'."

Sybil frowned. "Edith, I am perfectly happy being a writer—"

"I'm not talking about your career, Sybil, I'm talking about…going and finding yourself! Starting new and fresh as you said! And maybe you are right, that can't be done in this house…" she looked around at the bungalow and sighed, knowing that their parents wouldn't care for what she was about to suggest next. "Maybe you need to do more than sell the place."

Sybil frowned. "What…what do you mean…?"

"Maybe…" Edith continued. "Maybe you not only need to leave the house…but leave your life _here_, entirely."

Sybil stared at her sister with wide, disbelieving eyes. Was…was Edith suggesting…?

"I don't know what happened while you were away in Ireland," Edith continued. "But…whatever it was, it clearly affected you, and very deeply it seems." Sybil didn't look away, but she didn't try to deny it either. Edith gave her a small smile, one that she hoped was full of understanding, and extended her hands to help Sybil up. "So…maybe _there_ lies the answer?"

Sybil took her sister's hands and stood, trying to swallow the nervous lump in her throat. Start anew..._elsewhere_. Wasn't that what she had been thinking all along? Wasn't that why she was so upset to be back in London? Because what she really wanted…wasn't there?

She had been hurt before by what she thought was Love. Now…her heart was daring her to take another risk, another leap of faith. Could she do it? Did she dare do it?

_Bet on me…_

"What did you say?"

Edith's brow furrowed. "I said 'so maybe there lies the answer'—"

"No, I…" Sybil frowned and nibbled on her lip, her eyes wandering to a nearby window. "Nothing," she whispered, more to herself than to her sister. "Must have been the wind…"

* * *

A sudden craving for a hot glass of spiced mulled cider hit Charles Carson late in the evening. Indeed, he was craving that beverage a great deal, ever since he had shared a glass with Mrs. Hughes.

The kitchens were closed for the evening, which meant of course he would have to prepare the cider himself, not that he minded. Yet as he approached, he heard strange sounds…like…pots banging. And there was a light on as well! Surely it wasn't Mrs. Patmore? No, she would have left for home an hour ago! Was it possibly Daisy? He poked his head through the door, prepared to deliver a stern lecture to whoever was loitering about—but stopped himself short as he saw…William?

The lad had removed his footman's jacket and had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was also wearing an apron, which was smeared with flour. The lad's face also had traces of flour, and he was intensely reading a cookbook, picking up an egg and trying as best he could to gently crack it and put it into a mixing bowl.

Charles' eyes then took in the immense mess that was the counter on which William worked.

Flour, sugar, milk, and dozens of egg shells littered its surface. Not to mention various colors of frosting. Good God in heaven! Charles had the right mind to go in and reprimand William for the mess he was creating, but stopped himself as an over timer behind William sounded off, and the lad stopped whatever he was doing and grabbed some oven mitts, before pulling out a pan of…what, exactly? He wasn't sure if those were biscuits, or tarts, or small cakes—he couldn't really tell from where he stood, but thankfully they weren't burnt!

William quickly placed the tray down on the counter, before picking up another and putting inside the oven, and resetting the timer. Well, perhaps he had misjudged William? He seemed to be taking this whole "baking" thing quite seriously. He did wonder though how the lad was keeping this from Daisy? Where was he hiding all the treats?

William lifted his head from the cookbook and looked across the counter at an electric mixer. He brought the mixer over and put the bowl of batter under its blades. Satisfied that it was secure, he flipped the switch and the blades roared to life…at such a high speed that the batter was splattered all over the counter and onto William, himself.

Charles groaned and lifted his eyes heavenward. No, he would not be getting some cider tonight.

"At least he's not burning the place down," he muttered to himself as he walked out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Oh my God, oh my God, that is just SO CUTE!" Hannah squealed, joining both Kristen and Shana in their laughter after Alfred said "cheers, mate" to the bartender who brought them each another round.

"I love the words you use!" Kristen purred, snuggling even closer to Alfred. "Everything just sounds so much better with an English accent."

Alfred could only grin as he eased himself back onto the sofa which they had now moved to on the other side of the bar. His new "friends" were practically sitting on top of him, snuggling as close as they could to his side. He was in heaven.

"So true," Shana agreed. She then picked up her bottle of beer and with a giggle asked Alfred to tell her what she was holding. He understood the game and knew better than to tell her the brand of beer she was drinking.

"Bottle," he answered, being sure to make it sound _extra_ British.

"Bottle!" all the girls repeated, mimicking his accent before girlishly giggling in delight.

"And this?" Hannah asked, pressing herself against him in a rather sexy way, pointing to a straw that was sitting at the bottom of an empty glass.

"Straw," he answered, smiling as they once again repeated what he had said, before bursting into giggles and cuddling even closer to his side.

"And what about that?" Kristen asked, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail to the small table where so many of their drinks and empty glasses now stood.

Alfred couldn't stop grinning. He could do this all night! "Table," he answered right away.

"Tabl—" they started to repeat…and then stopped, their smiles fading slightly. "Oh," Kristen murmured, looking disappointed. "It's the same." Even Alfred looked disappointed.

"So Alfred," Shana asked, bringing merriment back to the conversation, and sexily running her fingers along his arm. "Where are you staying while you're in Milwaukee?"

Alfred's expression suddenly changed to one of concern. _I didn't think about that_, he realized. He was so busy concentrating on what to do immediately upon arriving in the country, that he hadn't thought about something as basic as…shelter.

"Um…well, honestly I'm not sure," he confessed, somewhat sheepishly. "Guess I'll just…check into a motel, like they do in the movies!" He knew his audience well, and just as he predicted, they all began giggling again, finding his words and phrases charming.

"Oh Alfred, you're just too adorable!" Hannah giggled, before snuggling closer.

He was about to ask them if maybe they could recommend a place, but Kristen spoke first, meeting the eyes of her two girlfriends. "Alfred, I know we've only just met…but…why doesn't he stay with us?"

"Oh yeah, that would be great!" Shana grinned while Hannah nodded her head enthusiastically.

Oh God…was this really happening? "Are you…are you sure?" he asked, his voice a slight higher pitch than earlier. "I…I mean, I don't want to be a burden—"

"Oh honey, you could never be a burden," Shana purred, her eyes shimmering with the sort of promise that would make a man melt where he sat.

"But there is one problem," Kristen sighed, meeting the eyes of her friends again. Alfred's face fell at the mention of this. _They have boyfriends, naturally_, he thought. _Or some burly bloke who thinks he's their boyfriend or something—_

"It's just…our place is kinda small," Kristen explained.

"Oh…" Alfred murmured, his disappointment rising. They wouldn't have a place for him to stay.

"And we only have the one bed—"

Alfred's eyes widened at this revelation. "W-w-what?" he squeaked.

"And it's not that big, either," Hannah sighed.

"So you would have to share it with all of us if you stayed…" Shana explained.

Alfred stared at all three of them. They all looked to be quite serious and perhaps even a little embarrassed by having to share this news. But there was also a certain…gleam…in their eyes.

"You have to understand that…we're not the richest of girls," Kristen continued.

"We can't even afford pajamas," Hannah explained. Alfred whipped his head around at stared at her, her eyes framed sexily behind her glasses.

Shana nodded her head to Hannah's words. "Which means because it's so cold, we'll have to snuggle even closer to stay warm…"

"Because we'll be naked," Kristen finished, just in case he hadn't picked up on their oh so subtle hints.

_Naked_. Three gorgeous women…_naked_…sharing a bed…_with him_…

THREE NAKED WOMEN IN THE SAME BED _WITH HIM!_

"So Alfred?" Shana asked, tipping her hat up and looking him directly in the eyes, while her lips moved provocatively around her beer bottle. "Will that be a problem?"

Kristen was smiling at him innocently, while nibbling on her finger. Hannah was looking at him with big eyes and small pout to her pretty pink lips…

"No…" he all but whispered, mainly because he knew if he spoke any louder, his voice would be nothing but a squeak. "That…that will be fine."

"Good!" all of them said together, immediately relaxing as they had been doing before the conversation about staying with them had begun. Alfred, however, was still absolutely stunned.

"Oh crap!" Hannah groaned. "Guys, how could we forget?"

"Oh no, you're right!" Kristen moaned.

Alfred looked around frantically at each one. Oh no, what? OH NO WHAT?

"Ugh, I can't believe we forgot about Reed," Shana muttered.

Alfred's brow furrowed with confusion. Reed? Who was Reed? _Sounds like a bloke's name…oh God, one of them or all of them DO have a boyfriend…_

"Oh don't worry, sweetie," Kristen reassured, noticing Alfred's frown. "She'll understand, I'm sure."

"She?" Alfred asked, hope once again reigniting in his heart at the simple word.

Shana nodded. "Yeah, Reed lives with us too; I know, it's a weird name—her parents were hippies," she explained.

Reed was a she. A fourth one. Oh God, there was ANOTHER one!

"But she'll like you, don't worry," Hannah reassured, patting his arm. "And you'll like her too…" she sighed with a bit of an eye roll.

"That's a guarantee," Kristen laughed.

"Why?" Alfred dared to ask.

"Because Reed is 'the sexy one'," Shana explained, her fingers moving to Alfred's chin and lifting it, until his hanging jaw was closed.

A fourth one. And according to _them_...these three incredible, beautiful women…was in their minds, _"the sexy one"._

"Oh…well…" he reached down and lifted one of the shots the bartender had brought, and the other girls, all grinning quickly picked up their shot glasses and lifted them up for a toast. "Well…here's to…to new friends!"

They laughed and clinked their shot glasses, before drinking them. "TO NEW FRIENDS!"

Yes indeed…this was turning out to be his best Christmas ever!

* * *

Today would be his only opportunity before Christmas. Robert picked up his scarf and quickly tucked it around his neck, before exiting his office. "Right, I'm off!" he announced to Jane. "Last minute Christmas shopping," he explained.

Jane smiled and nodded her head. "Of course sir," she murmured. "I'll be sure to put any important messages on your desk."

Robert thanked her and turned to leave…before she called out, "Are you going to get me something?"

His face immediately began to burn red at her question. He looked around to see if anyone had heard, let alone notice his sudden blush, before turning back and facing her. "I…I um…" he coughed, trying to keep composure in his voice, but at the same time, trying to keep it down as well. "I…" what could he say? "I hadn't thought about it…" he mumbled. A Christmas bonus was what Robert normally gave his employees, but he also tried to get something for his secretary too.

"Well perhaps you should?" Jane practically purred, smiling up at him in such a way that he began to wonder if he should loosen his scarf.

"Right," he coughed, trying once again to keep his composure (and failing, miserably). "Um…yes, yes, I um…I will…" he mumbled, before turning and getting ready to leave. "See you later."

"Oh yes…" Jane purred again, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. "I hope so, very much."

There was NO mistake about her meaning…was there? But now was not the time to try and figure out if that were true. So instead, he just continued walking out the door, not looking back, not even after he had crossed the street and was a good distance from the building. He got into a cab and went to Oxford Street, where he was meeting Cora. School was ending early that day for play rehearsal, and Cora only had one hour to spare before she had to be back. This was meant to be a very efficient shopping excursion.

"Robert!"

He looked up as soon as he had paid the cabbie and waved at his wife, who was standing outside a department store. She was smiling, which made him glad. She had been in a bit of a sour mood the weekend after the Christmas party. But slowly, she was getting better, and it was her idea for the two of them to do some shopping for the girls. Yes, what was it that people called it? "Retail therapy"? Yes, perhaps that was exactly what they needed? No doubt it was stress caused by the holiday season and the school play that was affecting her so.

"The traffic is a nightmare!" she hissed in his ear, linking her arm through his. "We'll need to be extra quick so I can get back in time!"

"Right, well, let's get started, shall we?" he held the door open to the department store and in they both walked. Right there, they were surrounded by make-up and perfume counters, various salespeople trying to pass their wares onto them, as if they were in an old world market. "Where are you thinking of starting?" he asked.

Cora, ever efficient and organized, withdrew a list from her purse. "Sybil is always the hardest one to buy for," she sighed. "Although Mary this year will be difficult—I mean, what do you get for the Prime Minister?"

Robert smiled and nodded his head, although his eyes were drawn to a nearby jewelry counter…where he saw several dazzling pieces sparkle under the store's light. He hadn't gotten Cora an anniversary present yet…

"Edith will be the easiest," Cora continued. "There were several things she told me that they need for their new house—oh but we might as well start with our mothers' first."

Robert was brought out of his thoughts by her words. "Oh Lord, I never know what to get Mama," he sighed. "Or your mother, for that matter."

Cora laughed. "Have no fear, darling, I have it all under control," she explained. "Probably be easier if I go and take care of that. Why don't you stay here and have a look around—let me know if anything inspires you for either Mary or Sybil. I'll be right back!" and with a quick kiss to his cheek, she was off to whatever destination she had planned.

Just then his mobile rang, and Robert frowned as he noticed the number. The office? He quickly answered. "Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you sir," Jane answered. "But Mr. Bates wanted me to let you know that he has to leave early today—some sort of 'family emergency', or something."

Robert frowned at this. He wondered what the problem could be. He knew that Bates' mother was very old and her health was failing—was it something to do with her? "Thank you Jane; please tell him if you see him before I do, that I understand."

"Very good sir…"

She seemed to be lingering…and even though he knew he should hang up right away, Robert couldn't help himself, and before he realized what was happening, was asking her, "So are you getting me something?"

The sounds of sleigh bells filled his ear once again. "What a funny question," she murmured once her giggles had died down. Was it? Robert hadn't thought it was strange to ask, considering how she had asked him before leaving if he was getting her something. Perhaps he was reading too much into it? But then her next words nearly caused him to trip over his own feet, even though he was standing perfectly still. "I thought I had made it clear to you at the party that when it comes to me…you can have anything you want."

_Anything he wants…_

Oh good God…she…she…REALLY, she…with him? _HIM?_ He was twice her age! Well, maybe not twice her age, but…_at least_ ten years older! So…it was true then? The flirtations were really true? She really…wanted…him?

_STOP IT! STOP THINKING THIS WAY RIGHT NOW! You're a HAPPILY married man and she is your secretary! _

"I…Jane…" he wasn't sure how to approach this. He could not deny that a part of him was terribly flattered—alright, EXTREMELY flattered that a beautiful young woman like herself would even be the slightest bit attracted to a man like him…but he knew he had to put an end to it before anything really did happen—NOT THAT IT WOULD, of course. No, never, but…

_Perhaps…perhaps if I get her something, that will put an end to it? A nice present, as I have always done for my secretary, but make it quite clear when I give it to her that this is all she can have of me…oh God, she'll laugh in my face if I say it like that!_ Still, the gift idea seemed like the best way to put a stop to things.

"So…what do you need? Something for the office? For your desk? Stationary or a calendar, or—"

"Oh sir," she sighed, giggling again. "That's not what you give a woman; you don't give her something she needs…but something she wants," she purred in his ear. "Something pretty, for example."

_Something pretty…_

His eyes wandered again to the jewelry case across the store aisle from where he stood. Perhaps…perhaps if he got her something small, that not only told her he appreciated all the hard work she had done, but then was firm that this was all there could be…

God, why was he even thinking about this? Surely he was taking everything out of context! This was just his ego, flattering himself and believing she was flirting and making various offers, when in truth, she was just…she was just…

Well, he didn't know the answer to that.

It was then that he realized she had hung up, and so he hung too…but still approached the jewelry counter, looking down into the case and admiring several fine pieces.

_There's nothing wrong in getting her a present; so long as you make sure nothing is read into it. It's an appreciation gift, after all. She's done wonders for someone who's come into this position so late, and yet who has handled some very tough situations, such as the Christmas party. _

"Can I help you sir?"

Robert looked up at the well-dressed gentleman standing on the other side of the counter, smiling and awaiting Robert's instructions.

"Um…" Robert looked down at the case before him, his brow furrowed as he examined the various items. One in particular caught his eye straight away. "Yes um…that necklace?" he asked, pointing at a small gold pendant. "How much is that?"

The salesman followed Robert's finger. "The heart, sir?"

Robert frowned and looked at the pendant again. "That's a heart?"

"Yes sir," the salesman smiled. "And it's £250.00."

Robert was more surprised by the revelation that the pendant was in truth a heart than what the actual price was. If it was a heart, it looked awfully…abstract, in his opinion. "Can I…have a look at it?"

"Of course, sir!" the salesman smiled, and brought the pendant out of the case and placed it atop the counter for Robert to admire. He looked down at the pendant and frowned a little, seeing upon closer inspection how one could call the shape a "heart", even though he still thought it looked a little strange. He also noticed in the center of the supposed "heart", what looked like a red gemstone. A ruby, perhaps? _Cora likes rubies_, Robert recalled. For their 25th anniversary he had gotten her a pair of ruby earrings, which she adored and wore every Christmas since. But this wasn't meant to be a present for Cora…he had something else in mind.

_What are you doing, you stupid git? Are you seriously contemplating buying an expensive piece of jewelry for your secretary? The most expensive gift you ever got Mrs. Bird were those opera tickets you gave her when she announced her retirement, and even those cost less than £150! _

True, he thought. Plus, what would Jane think if she saw this necklace? Would she think more came with it? Would she also see a heart? Oh God, how cliché could it be if he told her that "this was only heart of his she would ever have?" No, no, this was stupid; he would have to get her something else, something less obvious something—

"ROBERT!"

He jumped at the familiar voice and quickly whipped his head around, his eyes widening in shock at seeing of all people standing there…

"Mama?"

Violet Crawley smiled and greeted her son with a posh kiss to the air on either side of his face.

"Mama…" Robert frowned and looked his mother in the eye. "What…what are you doing here…in London?"

"What does anyone do in London at Christmas, Robert?" she chastised. "Shopping, of course!"

Shopping. And in the same store where both he and Cora happened to be. The universe could be cruel, sometimes.

"And what do we have here?" Violet asked, eyeing the pendant Robert had asked the salesman to see.

"Um, nothing, it's nothing," he muttered, feeling very embarrassed.

"That does not look like 'nothing'," his mother muttered, peering even closer at the pendant. "An anniversary present for Cora?"

Well he couldn't tell her the truth, now could he? "Yes!" he lied. "Yes, I was thinking—"

"Hmmm, a bit gaudy for my tastes, but I'm no American," Violet dismissed with a wave of her hand. "She's sentimental like that," she added upon closer inspection. "Well, go on; don't let me stop you buying it!"

"Buying it?" Robert repeated.

"Lovely!" the salesman replied, causing Robert's head to turn quickly to the man as he removed the pendant from the case. "I'll just pop it into the box…"

"Wait—" Robert tried to intercede, causing the salesman to stop midway.

"Oh, forgive me sir, did you want it giftwrapped?"

"Of course he does!" Violet declared, pushing Robert slightly to the side. "Yes, and make it as elegant as possible—it is, after all, for my son's 35th wedding anniversary."

"Lovely!" the salesman grinned. "And congratulations to you sir!"

Robert gave a faint smile and looked down at the pendant as he watched it go into the box. It looked like he was going to be purchasing this necklace after all.

"Gold ribbon, I think," Violet murmured, as the salesman seemed to be trying to decide between gold or silver ribbon to wrap around the small white jewelry box.

"Very good, madam," the salesman smiled.

Robert rolled his eyes. Leave it to his mother to interfere. "Thanks, that's great," he muttered, trying to put on a smile.

"Oh we're not finished, are we?" Violet said, turning back to the salesman. "I mean, when you said 'gift wrapped', surely you didn't just mean you would tie a ribbon around the whole thing and be done with it?"

"Oh no, of course not madam!" the salesman quickly shook his head. He then withdrew a plastic bag from a drawer.

"Mama, I don't want a bag!" Robert hissed. "I'm just going to put it in my pocket—"

Violet was laughing at him, and so was the salesman. What was so funny? "Oh Robert, this isn't _just_ a bag, is it?"

"No madam, it is so much more than a bag."

Robert looked back and forth between the two at the secret laugh they seemed to be sharing. What on earth…?

The salesman placed the box in the bag, and then placed the bag atop a special holder, that kept it standing and open. He then opened another drawer, and produced a silver scoop, the sort used for measuring coffee beans in grocery stores. What on earth…?

"Now what do we have here?" Violet asked, leaning over the counter to see the contents of the drawer.

"Dried rosebuds," the salesman answered. "In varying shades of pink."

"Oh, marvelous!" Violet declared. "Yes, several scoops of those, I think."

"Absolutely, madam!"

Robert stared at his mother and then turned his gaze to bag and watched as the salesman scooped these various dried flowers and with an artistic hand, dropped them into the bag holding the jewelry box.

"Lovely, lovely," Violet murmured. "Now some baby's breath, I think."

"Certainly madam," the salesman smiled, opening a second drawer and removing several stems of the small, white flowers, and dropping them elegantly inside the bag.

Robert was confused. Who was buying this gift? "Look," he glanced over his shoulder, knowing Cora would be back any second. "Can we be quite quick?"

"Of course, sir!" the salesman grinned.

"Tis but the work of a moment, Robert," his mother added, causing Robert to pause and look at his mother suspiciously. The way she had said that…and the look she was giving him unnerved him a little. As if she knew something…

He turned his eyes back to the salesman and frowned as he watched him pull what looked like a brown twig out of another drawer. "What is that?" he asked in a rather accusing voice. He was growing very impatient.

"Why what does it look like, Robert?" his mother chastised. "A cinnamon stick, of course!" She turned to the salesman and lifted a questioning brow. "Is it fresh?" To answer her, the salesman handed Violet the cinnamon stick to sniff.

A cinnamon stick? Why in heaven's name would he need a cinnamon stick? What was next? Dip the entire thing in chocolate?

"Now I hope there is at least one more flourish?" Violet asked the salesman.

"Of course, madam!" he grinned. "Now I'm just going to pop it into the Christmas box—"

"CHRISTMAS BOX?" Robert interrupted. "_ANOTHER_ BOX?"

"Robert!" his mother hissed. "Kindly lower your voice!"

He ignored her and looked directly at the salesman. "You put that thing in a bag, cover it with rose petals—"

"Dried rosebuds, sir."

"WHATEVER!" he was close to roaring. "The point I'm trying to make is that if I had wanted a Christmas box, I would have BLOODY WELL TOLD YOU!"

"Robert, you said you wanted it gift wrapped!" Violet argued.

"No, YOU said it should be gift wrapped—"

"This is the final flourish, sir," the salesman tried to reassure, before placing the necklace, in the jewelry box, with the gold ribbon, that was also in a bag, covered with dried rosebuds, baby's breath, and tied together with a cinnamon stick, into a large, beautifully decorated, gold box.

Violet nodded with approval. "Now all we need is a sprig of holly!"

The salesman grinned. "Yes, indeed madam!" he put on a thick glove and reached into yet another drawer to draw out the very plant which Violet had been referring to.

This was too much. "No, no, NO HOLLY!" Robert argued, trying to put his foot down and take control once again.

"But sir—"

"NO!"

"Robert, really—"

"NO, MAMA!" he all but shouted. "Just leave it, LEAVE IT!"

"Robert?"

He gasped and turned hastily to see Cora standing there, looking puzzled. "What on earth are you doing around the jewelry counter?"

"I…I…" he had forgotten how to talk. Good God, that was close! He turned and looked over his shoulder at the confused salesman and…wait, where had his mother gone? It was as if she had just…disappeared? "Nothing!" he lied, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to look innocent.

Cora, however, just laughed and shook her head. "Don't worry, darling; your secret is safe with me. Besides, I've grown an appreciation for all those scarves you given me over the years."

He tried to laugh as well, but couldn't help looking over his shoulder nervously at the jewelry counter and the confused looking salesman. And really, just where had his mother disappeared to?

"Now, let's go find something for the girls!" Cora announced, lacing her arm through his and dragging him away.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_AND YES! Violet did show up :o) hope you liked her in the part of "Rufus"!_


	15. 1 Week to Christmas (part III)

_WHOO HOO! Another update! This one is much shorter compared to the last, but that's ok as it gets us closer to the events on Christmas Eve! Also, I want to add to some of the M/M shippers out there, I understand your pain right now-as a Sybil/Tom shipper, I've been through the ringer too, and I did receive a request recently from an M/M fan, asking for more M/M in the future. Well, just be patient :o) there are some BIG moments coming up in future chapters, so just hang in there. I will try to make it worth your while, as with all other ships in this story!_

_Thanks again for reading and a quick special thanks to grubbychauffeur who "liveblogged" this on Tumblr the other day! Please send feedback and hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen_

**1 Week to Christmas (part III)**

Today was one of her better days.

John sat quietly in his chair while Vera sat opposite of him, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes fixed to a spot on the ground. He had gotten a phone call the other day, informing him that she had gotten into a fight with another patient, and had locked herself away in a broom closet, and she would only come out when she heard his voice.

That had been a bad day. Not as bad as some other days, but still, it was not good. Today was far better.

"Do you think it's going to snow…?"

She was looking out the window when she asked her question. John turned his gaze to the gray sky that hung overhead. "Perhaps…" he murmured.

Vera smiled at the thought, the first smile she had shown in weeks. "Remember our first Christmas together?" she asked.

John sighed but forced a smile on his face. "I do," he answered.

"We were snowed in," Vera giggled. It was her first laugh in weeks, too.

"That we were," he replied.

She turned to him then, and looked at him with curious eyes. "You seem sad, John."

He swallowed and tried to force his smile even more. "I'm not sad."

Vera frowned. "You're lying."

He didn't want to upset her, not when things had been going so well today, so he looked down at the ground before replying, "I'm just stressed," he quietly explained. "With work," he was quick to add.

She was still frowning, yet seemed to accept his answer. "Well, it will be Christmas soon," she whispered, her gaze returning once more to the window.

He nodded his head. Yes, it would be. And history looked to be ready to repeat itself for another year.

"Will you be coming?" she asked.

He looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

"The party…" she explained. "The party here…" she was looking at him now, her eyes large and hopeful. "I told everyone that I would have a guest, so you have to come, John, please?"

What could he say? It wasn't as if he had other plans, even though he wished that weren't true. He had been hoping, very much, that things would be different this Christmas. Despite the phone calls, Vera was doing better compared to previous years. And the night of the office party, he hadn't heard from her since the afternoon, and he took that as a positive sign, that she was having a good day and didn't depend upon him to help her through it. So for the first time in years…he had hope that things would be different. And that certain feelings…could truly be shared.

But it wasn't meant to be, apparently.

"John?" she looked anxious and worried, and was clutching her shawl even closer to her body.

"I'll be here," he reassured with a small smile. "What time does it start?"

She looked at him closely then, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Something's troubling you…"

"Vera—"

"Is it me?" she sounded like she was ready to start sobbing. Her face began to scrunch up and she began to shake. John quickly rose from his chair and rushed over to her side to calm her. However, that look of sadness quickly melted to one of anger, and she began to lash out at him, her hands balling up into fists, ready to strike.

John was used to this. He grabbed hold of her wrists to stop her. And within a few seconds, some orderlies were in the room as well, helping to restrain her, while a nurse stood in the back of the room, looking ready to bring out a syringe filled with some sort of calming agent, if need be.

"It's alright, it's alright…" he murmured to the orderlies. Vera's struggles were beginning to lessen right away, and now she looked ready to cry again. "Thank you, it's alright," he murmured once more, and they slowly released their hold on her…and backed away. "Vera, you can't do that," he said in a low, calm voice.

She was already crying and began to blubber her apologies, before reaching for his hands and clutching them tightly. "I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry, I…I…" she continued to cry, and he continued to hold her hands. He didn't do anything more than that, though. She did understand that they were no longer married, but he didn't want to confuse her or give her hope that things would change. Therefore, even in such moments as these, he would not put his arms around her as he had once done when they were married.

She began to calm down and her crying soon became a few sniffles. He handed her a handkerchief and she thanked him while taking it. "You're too good for me, John."

"Vera—"

"How many ex-husbands would do what you do?" she sniffled. "Most would turn tail and run the first chance they had."

He sighed and looked down at the ground. He would be lying if he told her those thoughts never crossed his mind. In truth, he had sometimes imagined what it would be like, to throw his mobile away and ignore her cries for help. To cut all ties and simply move forward without a backwards glance.

…But then what kind of a man would that make him? How could any man look himself in the mirror, knowing his negligence had directly caused the pain and suffering of another person, even if that person was someone you didn't love anymore? How could any man do that to another person…and still call themselves "a man."?

"I hope you find happiness…" she whispered, breaking the silence which until then had been filled with nothing but her sniffles.

He looked at her with some confusion. "What?"

Vera squeezed his hands, before finally releasing them. "That's my Christmas wish for you; happiness."

Happiness. Men like him weren't meant to be happy. Because truly, the happiness he wanted was with someone he had been admiring for a very, very long time. But now she knew the truth (she would have to know about it, eventually) and just as he had always feared, the truth…was just too complicated to handle.

"That's my wish for you too, Vera," he murmured, settling back in his chair. Despite their history, despite the stress and pain that all of this caused, and how it more or less meant he would have to put everything on hold for…possibly, the rest of his life…

Despite all that, he really did mean it. Happiness was a luxury that not every had the good fortune to experience. And at least for a brief moment, on that one night a week ago…he had experienced that happiness while holding Anna Smith in his arms.

* * *

Cora lifted her head as soon as she heard the door open. "Where have you been?" she asked as she stepped into the hall to help Robert remove his coat. "Sybil will be coming over any second, and I was really hoping to have your help in making dinner—"

"I know, I know," he groaned, removing his scarf and hanging on the peg next to his coat. "Traffic was a nightmare, but what do you expect when it's only a few days till Christmas?"

Cora shook her head, not completely understanding why it would take him so long. The office wasn't that far away, and Robert always left before the evening traffic got really bad. "Were you shopping?" she asked, watching his expression closely. Robert was never that good at lying.

"What? No, I told you that my only time to go shopping was the other day, when the two of us—"

"You went somewhere, I can tell," she accused, more out of amusement because of the way he as getting defensive. She did love pushing his buttons, at least to a point. "Come on," she grinned, sneaking her arms around his middle. "Come on; tell me where you went—"

"Oh confound it woman," he grumbled, giving one her arms a gentle pinch to get her to release him. "Can't a man have some secrets?"

She laughed and then much to his surprise, she smacked his rump as he passed. "Get into that kitchen and start cutting up those carrots for the stew I'm making!"

"Stew?" he groaned, not looking entirely pleased with the dinner option.

"Yes, I'm making Irish Stew in honor of Sybil's return! Now get chopping!"

Robert grumbled as he disappeared around the corner to do as she asked (or ordered, more like it) and Cora fixed his coat on the peg, which was slightly askew and in danger of falling off. However…she realized that one of the pockets felt…heavier than the other.

"What on earth…?" she whispered to herself, and gasped when she found a small box.

A jewelry size box.

Cora gasped and looked up in the direction where Robert had gone. Oh gracious, had he…? She remembered how she had found him the other day on their shopping excursion, "lurking about" the jewelry section. Oh goodness, what had he been up to? She bit her lip and looked down at the box in her hands. A voice in her head screamed at her to put it down, that it was very naughty to look at presents before Christmas…and yet…and yet she couldn't help herself!

_I'll just take a quick peek, and that's all!_ She lifted the lid…and gasped at the sight of the gold pendant. Oh, it was shaped like a heart! Although a rather strange looking heart, but a heart nonetheless! But what truly caught her eye was the ruby in its center. _This must be for our anniversary! _

"Cora, where do I put the carrots once they're cut?"

She quickly put the lid back on the box and stuffed it once more into his coat pocket, trying to make it look as if no one had tampered with it at all. "Um, I'll be right there!" she called, trying very hard to keep her voice sounding casual and calm…and not extremely touched by the gift he had gotten her.

* * *

Isobel sighed as she arrived at the studio for the last time. Today was it; the final day of shooting. And it wouldn't be for very long, she had been assured. They really only had a few scenes to clean-up on, and most of the actors were already taking the time off for the holidays. She just needed to be there for the final edits to make sure everything continued to look authentic for the era. She was glad to be there, although she couldn't deny, it was also bittersweet.

Her last day on set. Her last day of this wonderful experience.

…Her last day with Richard.

"Isobel!" he called upon seeing her, and she smiled, although it was heartbreaking in a way, to see him approach her with her tea, just as he had done back during their first week of working together, and had continued to do so every day and week since. Oh God, she would miss this so much.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking the offered tea and letting their fingers linger just slightly as he passed the cup onto her.

"Last day…" he sighed, turning and looking at the set in front of them.

"Last day…" she repeated, trying very hard to sound positive, despite the pain she was feeling in her chest at the reality of it all.

"I…I must say," Richard commented, turning and looking at her and smiling a very similar smile to the one she was wearing. "I've worked on a few projects like this for the BBC…but…never have I enjoyed myself as much as I have on this one."

She blushed and looked down at the tea she was holding in her hands. While she hadn't had the experience which Richard had in working and consulting such dramas, she felt the same way. She had enjoyed this experience very much…much more so than she thought possible, really! And…if she were honest with herself, she knew the reason was because of him, Dr. Richard Clarkson.

"So!" she said, trying to keep the two of them from wallowing in the inevitable sadness that was fast approaching. "What are you and your family doing for Christmas?"

Richard smiled. "My daughter always insists on hosting the family for Christmas dinner, so that is where I will be. It makes sense, since she has two children, and my son, while married, doesn't have any, at least not yet."

Isobel smiled. She and Richard had shared stories about their children; he knew all about Matthew and his important work as a press secretary for the government, although she had failed to share the full details to what he did, which was just as well…since quite frankly, she didn't really understand what he was doing now, since having been moved from the Prime Minister's staff. She always wondered why this had happened, but Matthew had never shared the details, and she knew better than to ask.

"And yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, my son and I will do something together. Our Christmas celebration may be small, but it is not without warmth and good cheer," she murmured with a smile.

Richard looked at her for a moment, his eyes tender and endearing, and Isobel felt her blush rise once more. "If…if I may be so bold, why don't you and your son join us?"

"Oh!" Isobel felt her face grow even hotter at the thought. "Oh…oh no, that's very kind of you, but…no, I couldn't possibly! I wouldn't want to intrude—"

"You wouldn't," he said with a smile, and meaning it. "I think it would be impossible for you to intrude."

Isobel blushed but smiled at his words. "Careful there," she warned. "I have been told by many, including my husband, that I was and remain very guilty of sticking my nose into 'other people's business' and trying to meddle."

Richard laughed, but shook his head. "I insist; please…it would do me great honor if you would be my guest."

Oh goodness, how could she refuse him now? The question, however, was if Matthew would be willing? Not that she could see him being against the idea, but she would still have to check with him.

"Alright…I'll ring my son when I get home tonight and see what he thinks."

"Wonderful," Richard murmured with a smile, before taking a sip from his own drink. Isobel turned and sipped her own, hoping that the warmth of the hot liquid could explain why her face was so red if asked.

"Of course…" Richard began, after a few moments of silence. "Of course…as much as it would be lovely to have you and your son over for Christmas, I…I can't help but wonder…"

"Yes?"

Gracious, was that…_hope_ in her voice? Good heavens, she was a mature woman, not a young school girl! Days of longing and romance for someone like her were over…

…Or were they?

Richard looked a little bashful, but continued. "I can't help but wonder…if perhaps…the two of us…could do something, before then?"

_The two of us…_

Good heavens! Was he…was he…?

"As in…a date?"

Both of them were blushing brightly, but Richard swallowed the nervous looking lump in his throat and nodded his head. "Yes! Um…well, yes, actually," he finally managed to say. "Perhaps…perhaps for a drink? Or…something to eat? And…maybe do something in the spirit of the season?"

"I'd love to."

Isobel was shocked by her own words. She meant them, without a doubt, but she was still shocked by her boldness for saying them without second thought or hesitation.

Indeed, Richard seemed quite surprised as well. But he soon managed to overcome that shock and let himself smile broadly. "Wonderful! Um…perhaps…perhaps—"

"Christmas Eve?"

Richard's eyes widened at her suggestion. "Christmas Eve?"

Isobel nodded her head. "Well, it makes sense when you think about it. Matthew's godson attends the same school as your granddaughter. And they'll both be in that Christmas concert…so…perhaps we can have some dinner, and then attend the show…together?"

Richard stared at her for a few minutes, and Isobel wondered if somehow she had overstepped a line or something. However, his smile returned again and he began to nod his head, rather vigorously. "Yes…yes, I think that sounds like a splendid idea."

Isobel grinned and then quickly lowered her face to sip her tea. She couldn't believe it; she, a mature woman in her sixties, was going on _a date!_

Perhaps it was possible for a woman like her, to experience romance again?

* * *

Anna sighed as she exited the tube station near her flat. She was carrying a few items that she had gotten from the shops, including some take-away for her dinner. Perhaps it would be another Christmas with either Indian or Chinese? That was what she had done last year…and the year before that…and the year before that.

Alone. That was how she spent her Christmas'. And it was looking like this one would be no different.

As she unlocked the door to her flat, Anna paused in the doorway, just for a moment, allowing her mind to go back to when both she and Mr. Bates had kissed here, nearly an entire week ago. _Feels like a lifetime_, she thought to herself. They had danced, they had talked, they had kissed…and they had nearly made love in her bed, until his mobile rang.

And then her dream was shattered completely.

He wasn't married…but he might as well be. He took care of her, his ex-wife. He visited her; he answered her phone calls, no matter what. He was still, very much in her life, and she was clearly very much in his. Even though this woman was John's ex, Anna knew that if the two of them started a relationship, she would have to come second and simply settle for that reality.

No! That was too much to ask for any woman, and she was worth more than that!

…And yet…she couldn't stop thinking about how sad he looked, when he finally revealed the truth to her. Nor how sad he looked when he seemed to come to the realization that this wasn't going to work. _And we had barely started…_

She shut the door to her flat and stalked into the kitchen, dumping her groceries on the countertop before moving to the table to take out her take-away dinner. Sadly, she didn't have much of an appetite.

As she toyed with the noodles on her plate, she found herself wondering about John. He often filled her thoughts, even more so than before. In some ways, this was worse, because before—nothing had happened. It was just the fantasy about herself and Mr. Bates. But now…now, they had kissed. Now she was aware that what Robert had told her, about John liking her, was true. Now she knew, without a doubt, that if there were no other complications, something between herself and John Bates was possible.

But that was the problem; it _wasn't_ possible.

She sighed again and rose to pour herself a glass of wine. She had been drinking a great deal more wine than usual ever since that night.

_You're being foolish. Even if nothing happens, you at least should talk to him!_ But as she sipped her wine, she paused and found herself asking, "Why?" Why should she talk to him? Why must it always be her to initiate conversation? _He was the one who asked you to dance; he was the one who offered you the ride home. He was the one who lingered…and who moved in to kiss you…_

He was also the one who waited nearly seven years since their first meeting, to say anything to her about this. Why now? Why all of a sudden was he showing interest? If he knew how complicated things were going to be, then why did he make her believe that her dreams were coming true?

…_You'll never know the answers to these questions…if you don't talk to him._

Anna groaned and pushed her plate away, her appetite altogether gone now.

The truth was…she was hurt. She was upset that her dream was over. And yet…she missed him. That hadn't stopped. Throughout the week, even though neither one of them had spoken to the other, let alone make eye contact to each other, she could feel him looking at her when her back was turned. And no doubt he could feel her gaze, when he was looking away. Yes, she was looking at him even more so now than before…and her heart was aching.

_It's nearly Christmas. If not now…when?_

"Now is the time…" Anna murmured to herself, remembering the words Robert had said to her all those weeks ago. "Now is the moment…"

She turned her head to her little table-top Christmas tree that shined like a nightlight on her coffee table. It was small, but it did the trick, bringing some warmth and merriment to her flat that was certainly feeling rather dreary, these past few days.

Atop her tree was an angel, one she had made all the way back when she was a primary school student. She smiled at the tiny fragile piece, the closest thing she had to an "heirloom", so to speak.

_Faith_, she found herself thinking. Maybe that was what she needed?

No, strength was what she needed; strength to confront Mr. Bates and…and strength to talk to him and end this strange, silent war between them. Yes, that was what she needed.

But that small, persistent voice kept repeating over and over, _keep some faith, too!_

* * *

Charles was sniffling. William had noticed and was looking unsure of what to do. It was a rare thing for Charles Carson to let his emotions get the better of him to the point where he was nearly crying in front of another person.

"Are you alright, Mr. Carson?"

"Yes!" Charles quickly answered, removing a handkerchief and dabbing at his eye. "Just…some dust. We've been so busy this week, I haven't had the chance to dust my room properly, that is all."

William bit his lip to keep from grinning, and simply nodded his head. "Yes, Mr. Carson."

They were watching an older _Doctor Who_ Christmas Special—the last one with David Tenant. Charles was very fond of the 10th Doctor (and had become even fonder of him because he was Scottish, especially after meeting a certain person). He couldn't believe it that after so many episodes…the 10th Doctor was leaving. He knew it had to happen, after all, there was a different chap playing the Doctor now. But still…he hadn't expected for the episode to affect him so.

"Strange sort of episode to call a 'Christmas special'," Charles sighed when it had finally ended.

"I should warn you, Mr. Carson—some of these shows, well, just because it's Christmas doesn't mean they'll be happy; remember _Voyage of the Damned?"_

Charles groaned and shook his head. "I think I've seen more than my fair share for tonight, William…and possibly for a while."

"Alright," William chuckled softly, ejecting the DVD and putting it back in its case.

Charles glanced at the footman and found himself smiling, despite his "dusty eyes". "How goes your project?"

William blushed a little, but smiled all the same. "Well, I think. And speaking of which, I should head down there now; Mrs. Patmore should be long gone, as well as any other kitchen staff—"

"How are you keeping this all a secret?" Charles asked, very curious. He had seen the amount of treats William was baking and he had no idea how, exactly, the lad was hiding them without being detected!

A sly grin spread across the younger man's face. "It's easy to hide anything…when it's done in plain sight."

Charles' brow furrowed. "In plain sight?"

William nodded his head, looking rather proud of himself. "Every day, Daisy tries to bake a little more at a time, to make sure she has enough for the school's concert. I've been adding my contributions to her collection; every time she adds something, she gasps, because it seems as if…the items are simply multiplying on their own!"

Charles was impressed by this news. "Very clever," he murmured, although he knew this charade wouldn't last for very long. Daisy would eventually figure it out that someone was "helping" her. "But when are you going to tell her, William?"

William sighed and looked down at his feet. "When the time is right," he finally answered.

Charles lifted an eyebrow at this. "And when will that be?"

"When…I know that it's right," William replied, looking a little sheepish for his answer, but Charles knew that it was the best the lad could offer. "And um…yourself?"

Charles frowned slightly. "Myself?"

William nodded his head. "What about your love-life?"

Charles eyes widened and he began sputtering. "My…my l-l-love…" he was stuttering and making a complete fool of himself. What was William thinking, asking him that? _Why_ had he asked him that?

William seemed to be smiling despite Mr. Carson's sudden coughing fit. "I only ask…because…well, I haven't seen that woman since that day."

That woman? That day? "I…I don't know what you mean…?" He did, actually…but perhaps it was because he was somewhat old fashioned, or because he was asked to handle a great deal of confidential information, but for whatever reason…he wasn't prepared to answer that question directly.

"The woman you met, whose table you sat at a few weeks ago in the café," William reminded, although Charles knew he needed no reminding. He remembered Mrs. Hughes very, _very_ well. "You both seemed to be getting along quite well, from what I saw."

Charles was ready to throw a cutting remark at the lad, but stopped himself. What good would that do? And really…why was he denying it? If William could bare his soul and trust him to not go and repeat everything he had once said about Daisy, then…perhaps he should return the favor, and put some trust in William?

"No, we haven't seen each other since," Charles finally answered. This news, in truth, was much more depressing than any episode of _Doctor Who._

"Do you know where she lives? Or where she works?"

Charles nervously swallowed. Oh yes, he knew where she worked, but he also knew he couldn't go and necessarily reveal that information. It wasn't his business, anyway. "I'm sure she will return some day because she is friends with Mrs. Patmore," he simply finished.

William couldn't help but shake his head. "Or…you could go to Mrs. Patmore and ask her where her friend lives. Then you can surprise her on Christmas Eve with a bouquet of roses, and dinner out—"

"Let's not discuss this any further," Charles coughed, feeling rather uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. "Mrs. Hughes is a fine woman and I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to sit and talk with her. But…well, that's that, isn't it?"

William frowned. "Isn't what?"

Charles tried his best not to roll his eyes. Was William purposefully asking these annoying questions?

"You're implying that…that…" Charles did not feel comfortable talking about this at all, even with William. "No, William, no…Mrs. Hughes and I are simply friends…and I'm not even sure you can call it that. I was simply doing my duty and seeing to the well-being of a guest, even if she was only sitting in our café."

William sighed and shook his head. He walked over to the door that led out of Charles' hotel flat. "Very well, Mr. Carson, if you say so…" he muttered. However, he paused just before leaving and turned to face his friend. "But…forgive me, sir, if you're saying that such a thing can't be possible—well, I'm sorry, but I completely disagree."

Charles felt his chest puff up slightly out of stubbornness. Some would say he was very good at being stubborn. "Disagree?"

William nodded his head. "Yes, Mr. Carson. Because…because I believe it's never too late to find love."

William left then, not stopping to look back, simply said his peace before murmuring a quick goodnight…and leaving Charles' sitting there, mouth agape, face burning brightly, and his mind reeling at the younger man's implications.

And yet…in his heart, he truly had found himself asking those same words, again and again.

Was it truly possible for a man like himself, at his age, and with hardly any romantic history—_to fall in love?_

* * *

_To be continued..._


	16. Christmas Eve (part I)

_Here is the first of the "CHRISMAST EVE" sections. Ok, word of warning, there are some sad parts to this chapter...but I can promise you that from here on out, it will get happier! (YAY!). I'm going to start writing the next chapter this evening, and hopefully have it published by early tomorrow (Monday morning, CST). M/M shippers, your happiness begins here. A/B and R/C fans, *hang in there* and Edith fans (no matter who you ship her with) I hope you like this chapter too. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen_

**Christmas Eve (part I)**

The party had been well underway for the last several hours. The wine and champagne began pouring around the midafternoon, and now as the sun set and the sky began to darken, the guests at Thomas' holiday get-together were very, very merry indeed.

The reason for the party was to celebrate the success of Thomas' album. Despite the lack of critical praise, the early reports for the sales of the album were skyrocketing! And during the last week leading up to Christmas, more and more excitement had been brewing on whether or not Thomas' single would beat that of One Direction's for the Christmas #1. Well, tonight was the night they would all find out.

Sarah O'Brien was trying to keep things in order (which mainly consisted of keeping Thomas sober enough for the phone call that would be coming his way if the song won). While she now realized that people loved seeing and hearing Thomas and his outrageous antics on television or the radio, she didn't want him to more or less "fuck this up", if it could be helped.

She was listening intently to the radio while Thomas was laughing with several others, but then began waving her arms frantically when she heard the DJ begin to announce who was the Christmas #1. "QUIET!" she shouted.

Silence soon fell upon the room as Sarah turned up the radio and they all leaned in, listening and waiting…

"THE RESULTS ARE IN! IT'S SAID THAT TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION…SO WHILE IT MAY SURPRISE YOU AND YOU NEVER HAVE GUESSED IT, THE TITLE OF #1 GOES TO…THOMAS BARROW!"

A massive cheer erupted around the room and people began to clap, including Sarah. Despite all the headaches he had given her throughout this promotion (and throughout the years she had worked with him) she truly was happy for him.

People began to hush one another as the phone rang. Sarah grabbed it and thrust it into Thomas' hands, knowing it was the station wanting to have an official reply from Thomas on winning #1.

Thomas was grinning like an idiot, but quickly sobered his expression and answered, rather poshly into the phone, "Hello?"

"THOMAS!" they heard the DJ answer on the radio. "WE'RE LIVE ACROSS THE NATION! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE THIS YEARS CHRISTMAS #1?"

"Oh don't ask stupid questions," Thomas laughed. "It feels fucking terrific—perhaps even more so knowing that this Christmas, I'm the reigning champion, rather than a bunch of adolescent preteens who have as of yet to discover masturbation!"

Sarah groaned despite the laughter that filled the room at Thomas crudity. She would getting some phone calls after that. Still, apparently it was what the public loved about him.

"YOU MADE A PROMISE ON LIVE TELEVISION ABOUT WHAT YOU WOULD DO IF YOUR SINGLE BECAME #1—WILL WE BE SEEING YOU LATER THIS EVENING?"

Laughter rumbled around the room, and Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head, as she recalled the stupid deal Thomas had made a few weeks ago about performing the song naked, live on television, on Christmas Eve if he won. Even though she hated the thought of him doing it, she knew she would have to force him to, for the sake of the album, after making such a stupid promise.

But there was nothing to fear. Thomas loved the controversy nearly as much as he loved the spotlight. "You can count on it; I would never disappoint my fans," he said with a wink to some of the party goers.

"AND UNTIL THEN, WHAT WILL YOU BE DOING TO CELEBRATE?"

Thomas laughed and glanced around the room at his "friends". "Well, that's an excellent question! Maybe I'll end up drinking myself to a puking stupor with only my spinster agent to keep me company? Or…maybe as soon as I hang up, I'll receive dozens of invitations to various glamorous, exclusive parties?"

While there was laughter ringing in the room, it was a little strained as a few of the party goers glanced her way. Sarah however simply rolled her eyes; she was used to Thomas' insults.

"WELL LET'S HOPE IT'S THE LATTER! ONCE MORE, HERE IT IS…YOUR CHRISTMAS #1, 'CHRISTMAS IS ALL AROUND' BY THOMAS BARROW!"

Thomas made a face before shouting into the phone over the applause of the room, "Oh no, not that shit again!" He hung up then and joined the party goers in their merriment, grabbing a nearby champagne bottle and lifting it high into the air, before taking a giant swig. Sarah shook her head…and then quickly reached for her mobile as it began to buzz at her hip. "Hello?" After a few sentences were uttered, she made her way through the thick crowd surrounding Thomas and offering him congratulations, and handed him the phone. "For you!" she shouted over the others.

Thomas took the mobile and held it up to his ear. "OY! QUIET!" he shouted at his "friends", before trying once again to hear who was on the line. "Hello?" A pause followed, and then everyone watched as his face lit up. "Kylie Minogue?" A gasp went up around the room. "Yes, yes, Kylie, this is Thomas…" he grinned and continued listening to the conversation. "Oh really? Well, I would be delighted to attend your gathering…just send an obnoxiously enormous car and I'll be there!" He hung up then, and the people around him either began to clap or pout that he would be leaving so soon.

Sarah simply sighed and stepped further back into the shadows surrounding the room. All she could hope for would be that he would behave himself this Christmas and she wouldn't have to come and bail him out of jail for drunk and disorderly conduct like she had done the previous years. Still, she wouldn't hold her breath, either.

"Well…it looks like it's going to be a very, very merry Christmas indeed!" he announced to more applause.

Sarah forced a smile before taking a drink from her own champagne glass. At least it would be for one of them.

* * *

_The Edwardian_ staff had a small window for their mealtime, before the dinner rush came crashing upon them. Charles went in search of William, who was the only person missing from the rest of the group. It seemed that every chance the lad could get, he was in the kitchens, adding more to his baking collection.

And sure enough, Charles found him there, hiding in a corner (so to speak), and decorating some biscuits with various colors of frosting.

"William! You're still working?"

"Nearly finished, Mr. Carson," the footman muttered, not bothering to look up from his handiwork. He was intently frosting a biscuit in the shape of a snowman, and was now adding some chocolate buttons to look like coal.

"William, you've done more than enough—"

"Daisy likes details," William simply replied.

"You need to eat something—"

"I'll eat after the concert."

"Oh don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm really not that hungry—"

"William, this is utter madness!" Charles groaned, throwing his hands up into the air out of exasperation.

Only then did the footman look up from what he was doing. And despite seeing the frustrated face on his boss and friend, he simply smiled and gave a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. "No, Mr. Carson; this is Love."

* * *

The office had closed over an hour ago, but Anna was still there; she wanted to get a few things done before the holiday. At least that was what she told herself. It had NOTHING to do with the fact that John Bates was still there. And that they were quite literally, the only two people left.

She had been debating with herself all day if she should say something. She hated the idea of the two of them parting like this, just before Christmas. She hated the thought of spending _another_ Christmas, _alone_, pining for the man she loved who she now knew was absolutely unattainable…or was he? She was so conflicted over the issue, but no matter what happened, she truly felt they should say something…if she could only work herself up to do it.

John's desk lamp switched off, and Anna glanced up then and watched as he rose from his desk and pulled on his jacket. She watched him move, watched the slow motions that he made…like someone in pain. And when he turned and met her eyes, she saw the sadness in their depths. She also saw how he quickly tried to cover that sadness with a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Anna," he murmured, slowly approaching her desk.

She nibbled her bottom lip but soon found herself returning that same smile—one to cover up the sadness and pain she was feeling in her heart. "Merry Christmas, John," she whispered back.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and simply gazed at her for a moment. Anna felt her heart break in that look, as it had broken so many times before.

He opened his mouth to say something…the closed it. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh, before nodding his head, as if she had said something. His smile seemed strained, but he continued to show it, before taking a few steps back. "Well…I'll see you later."

She nodded her head and watched as he turned to leave, watching him go, always watching him go, it seemed. Yes, she would see him in the office after Christmas and Boxing Day had passed, but what then? How many times would she be watching him walk away like this? How many times would she be sitting here, always wondering, and possibly regretting?

"John?"

Mr. Bates paused and slowly turned. He was nearly at the door, ready to leave, but when he turned and looked at her, Anna felt the courage in her soul rise at the hope she swore she saw in the depths of his dark eyes.

"I…I know…I know things are complicated," she whispered, rising to feet and gripping the edge of her desk for support. "But…I…I want you to know that you are welcome…tomorrow, if you don't have any other plans, to…to come over, for Christmas…?"

There. She had said it. She had taken that leap of faith; she had claimed that moment.

She watched with bated breath as he smiled at her…and then felt her spirits sink as she watched his smile fade, and the sad pain she had seen return once more.

"I…I promised Vera I would be her guest at the hospital's Christmas party," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

Anna felt like cold water had been thrown on her face. "Oh…" His ex-wife had invited him to a party. He had already made plans. With his ex-wife. The woman whose call he would always answer, no matter what. The woman who would always come first in his life, even though they were no longer married.

How foolish she had been.

"Well…" she forced a smile once again, and screamed at the tears that were stinging her eyes not to fall. "Well, I hope you have a wonderful time!"

He nodded his head in thanks…but he did not smile. "Thank you for inviting me," he whispered, before turning and walking out the door.

Anna slowly sank back down onto her chair, and stared at the empty doorway for a long time, feeling absolutely hollow inside. She had taken her leap…and had crashed onto the ground.

* * *

"Mama, we don't have time for this!"

Cora looked at her daughter in absolute shock. "Not have time for presents?" she gasped.

Robert groaned and shook his head. "You know it's a pointless battle, Sybil; once she gets an idea into her head, it's impossible to stop…" he gave his youngest daughter a pointed look then. "Now you know where you got that stubborn streak from, my most 'American' of daughters," he teased.

Sybil swatted his arm, but laughed as she flopped down on the sofa in her parent's living room. "I thought you had to be at the school by half-past seven? It's nearly seven o'clock now!"

"Then we better stop arguing and get to it, shouldn't we?"

It had been a tradition while the girls were growing up that they could open one present on Christmas Eve. Of course, as the girls grew up and began to move out into their own lives, this little tradition was becoming more and more rare. And Cora realized early that morning, this would be the first Christmas Eve in the Crawley family, where they wouldn't all be together, let alone participate in this little tradition which seemed to hold so much more value to her, than in previous years. Mary wouldn't be with them until the following evening. Edith and Anthony (a new addition to the family that Christmas) would be meeting them at the school, but would not be able to join them before, as Sybil had been able to do. No, things were changing, and while Cora was a little more accepting of change than her husband, that still didn't mean she couldn't get emotional over it.

…Also, she could not deny, there was the eagerness to open Robert's present.

Over the past few years, both she and Robert had agreed to only exchange one gift with each other. They normally waited until their anniversary to exchange their gifts, but Cora didn't think she would be able to wait until Boxing Day to look at her new necklace. _I'll wear it tonight_, she thought as she changed clothes earlier, trying to find something that would look flattering with the pendant. She chose a crimson sweater, and long black skirt, and decided to let her hair hang down rather than pull it back in its usual pony tail or bun.

"Well, since it is your mother's big night," Robert softly teased. "Why don't we let her go first?"

"Thank you, darling!" Cora grinned, before falling to her knees like a small child, at the base of the Christmas tree. "And…I think I'll open…" her eyes scanned the packages…and she grinned as she found the one she was looking for. "This one!"

Sybil looked at the small package with curious eyes. "Who is that from?"

Robert blushed. "Cora, are you sure? I thought we would wait—"

"You can wait until Boxing Day if you wish, but…I confess, I am most eager to open it now!"

Robert smiled tenderly at her, and reached for her hand. "Well, who am I to stop you?" he murmured, before lifting her hand to his lips.

Cora grinned and leaned up onto her knees to meet his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. "Alright, alright, enough of that," Sybil teased. "Go on, what did Papa get you?"

Cora laughed and just like a small child, began ripping open the wrapping paper. _Remember to look surprised! Remember to look surprised! _She opened the box…

…and stared in shock at the item inside.

"Well?" Sybil asked, trying to crane her neck to see what her mother held. "What is it?"

"It's…it's a tape," Cora whispered.

Sybil's brow furrowed. "A tape?"

Cora lifted her eyes and met Robert's gaze. He had clearly been smiling with anticipation while she had been ripping through the wrapping paper, but now his smile was beginning to fade as if…as if he could tell something wasn't right.

"Yes," Cora went on, looking back down at the tape in her hands. "An audio cassette."

"They still make those?" Sybil asked with surprise.

"It's a mix tape," Robert finally spoke. "Your mother, Sybil, told me that she has a great fondness for mixed tapes. That they show a great deal of love in the effort that goes into making them."

Cora bit her lip and continued staring down at the tape in her hands. He had remembered her saying that to him. He had remembered her telling him about the love and care she found in the creation of such things…

"Oh Papa!" Sybil gasped, now leaning across the coffee table to where her mother sat so she could have a better glimpse of Cora's tape. "You made this?"

"I did," Robert answered somewhat sheepishly.

"Oh Mama, how romantic!"

Yes…very romantic. Cora opened the cassette case and saw the songs Robert had recorded listed inside. The first song they danced to. The songs that they had played at their wedding reception. The songs they had listened to while honeymooning. And so many others, from throughout the years—from throughout their thirty-five years of marriage. A true labor of love indeed…

And yet Cora could not enjoy it.

_Perhaps…perhaps he had gotten you two presents? It wouldn't be the first time that he's 'broken the rules' so to speak about such things. Or perhaps it's for one of the girls? _But despite the amount of reasons and excuses her head kept trying to make…her heart knew the truth.

_The necklace wasn't for you. It never was meant for you._ It was meant for _her_.

"Well…" Cora finally murmured, knowing she needed to speak, as well as cover up her shock and disappointment as soon as possible, at least until she knew how to handle the situation. "Well, that's just…that's just lovely!"

Robert smiled, as if relief were washing over him. "I'm glad you think so," he sighed. "And I will concede the point that it does indeed take a great deal of effort to create such a thing.

"Yes…" Cora murmured looking down at the tape again, thinking about the very words he had just spoken. "Yes…a great deal of effort."

"Mama?" Sybil asked, her voice filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

Cora glanced up and looked at her daughter. Oh goodness, was she about to cry? She blinked her eyes a little, feeling the tears starting to well up. She could also feel the emotion in her throat beginning to bubble.

"Oh darling, I'm fine, I'm fine," she lied. "I um…actually, I think I'll be far too warm in that auditorium with this sweater on, so I better go and change…um…could you and your father pack those additional presents in those two boxes I have set off to the side for the train ride to Downton? Yes? Good…and um…better load up the car, since we'll be leaving for the station right after the concert."

"Cora?" Robert asked, rising to his feet, his own voice sounding concerned, but she knew she couldn't look him in the eye. Not right now. She needed to think.

"Thank you my dears, I won't be long!" she then quickly excused herself and was sure to shut the door behind her once entering the bedroom. She only realized after shutting the door that she was still holding the mix tape.

A part of her wanted to throw it in the trash. A part of her wanted to scream. A part of her wanted to sob. A part of her wanted to continue looking for excuses. A part of her wanted to march back out there and demand to know what had become of the necklace. And there was even a part of her that wanted to listen to the tape and be happy.

Well, she knew that would not be possible, the happiness part. Still, she found herself numbly putting the tape into the small tape-player in their bedroom and hitting play, listening to the words of Joni Mitchell fill her ears as she rummaged through the closet to find a new sweater, one that had no trace of crimson or any evidence of anything that could have gone with the necklace she thought she was getting.

"_I've looked a love from both sides now,  
From give and take, and still somehow…  
It's love's illusions that I recall,  
I really don't know love…  
I really don't know love at all."_

She had to pause to collect herself. She took several deep breaths, summoning all the strength she had in order to face the evening ahead. After all, she had students to direct and lead as they took the stage in the most unusual nativity play she had ever seen. But they were depending on her, and despite the questions and the pain that was ripping through her heart, she had to be brave and not reveal her true feelings, at least not yet. She may be an emotional American, but she had the queen of "stiff-upper-lipness" for a mother-in-law, and Cora had learned a few things from Violet Crawley in the years she had lived in Britain.

She settled on a gray sweater—simple, sensitive gray—and after dabbing at her eyes and nose and taking one more deep breath to keep herself calm, rejoined her husband and daughter who had the car loaded and their coats on and were clearly ready to leave as soon as she returned.

With a false smile, Cora greeted them, and turned off the lights of the house, including the now present-free Christmas tree. The mixed tape hadn't been turned off, though. It was still playing in its tape player as they left the house.

* * *

"Dearest, which one do you think is best?"

Edith looked up from the mail they had received that day, going through the different Christmas cards, when her husband appeared in the doorway of the living room, holding two different neckties. "I can't decide on the red or the blue," he sighed, looking at each.

She narrowed her eyes as she examined the neckties, before pointing at one in his left hand. "The blue one; while I know red is very festive for Christmas, the blue will bring out the color of your eyes."

Anthony laughed and looked at the blue tie, before tossing the red one on the back of a nearby chair. "What would I do without you, my dear?"

Edith smiled and rose from where she sat to help him put on the necktie, a small task that she loved performing. "Well, that's why you finally came to your senses and stopped talking about our age differences and married me, wasn't it?"

He chuckled and looked at her with loving eyes. "You seem happier…"

She knew he was referring to the melancholy she had been displaying the last few days, pretty much ever since Evelyn had revealed that he was and had been in love with her all this time. She didn't know how to really respond to that revelation; she loved her husband, very, very much. But she would be lying if she didn't admit that she cared for Evelyn, at least that she cared enough that she didn't want him to be unhappy or to feel awkward around Anthony. She hadn't heard or seen anything of Evelyn since that day, and perhaps for the first time since she had learned how close he and Anthony were, she was now the one avoiding contact.

"I feel happier," she admitted with a small smile. She never told Anthony what had learned. It wasn't for her to tell, and she knew that in the end, it was her own fault for discovering Evelyn's secret. She would give him all the space he needed, and only prayed that with time…the two of them could be friends. But until then, she would give him the space he required, and she would focus on her family and career.

Anthony smiled and leaned down to kiss her, their lips lingering a little longer than perhaps they should, at least when they had someplace to be. It was Edith who somehow managed to show her strength in the moment, and gently placed her hands on Anthony's shoulders and pushed him away. "Later," she promised, leaning up on her tip toes to kiss his nose. "But we need to hurry if we're to make it to Mama's school before eight o'clock."

Anthony sighed, but understood. "Just promise me you won't be _too_ tired when we reach Downton later tonight," he grinned, before giving her one last quick kiss, and returning to their bedroom to finish getting ready. Edith was just about to return to her seat when she heard a soft knocking on the door.

"Is someone at the door?" Anthony asked from the bedroom.

"I'll check on it!" Edith called back. "You finish packing your suitcase for the journey!" She moved quickly to the door to see who it could be at half-past seven on Christmas Eve night. The face that greeted her…was the last one she expected to perhaps ever see again.

"Evelyn!" she softly gasped, seeing him standing there, while a soft snow slowly began to fall from the sky around him. She honestly wasn't sure how to react. She was glad, yes, that he was there. But at the same time, she didn't want him to feel awful or horrible—oh God, he wasn't going to try and apologize, was he? He had nothing to apologize for! If anyone should be apologizing, it should be her! She opened her mouth to do just that, but he held up a finger to his lips…and she quickly closed her mouth.

"Edith, who is it?" Anthony called from the bedroom.

As if on cue, Evelyn held up a giant white notecard, with words written across it that said "SAY IT'S CAROL SINGERS".

Edith glanced at Evelyn, but then quickly read the card out loud for her husband to hear. "Carol Singers!"

"Oh! Well…give them a quid and send them on their way!"

Just then, Evelyn produced a portable boom box and hit play, and right away, the air was filled with the sounds of a children's choral group singing _Silent Night. _

Edith's brow furrowed, wondering what this was all about…but before she could ask any further questions, Evelyn took a deep breath…and held up a stack of notecards, just like the one he had first displayed to her…and began to tell her his message.

"HI EDITH."

She blushed and smiled at him.

"FIRST, I WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR LEAVING AS I DID LAST WEEK."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up another sign, as if prepared for her protest.

"NO, PLEASE DON'T ARGUE; WHAT I DID WAS RUDE. AND LET ME JUST SAY THIS…"

She closed her mouth and wrapped her arms around herself as he continued showing her different cards.

"HOPEFULLY, BY THIS TIME NEXT YEAR…

I WILL BE DATING ONE OF THESE WOMEN…"

Edith watched as he lowered the card, to show one of several gorgeous actresses whose pictures had been cut out from magazines. She couldn't help but softly giggle as she took in the face of each one, and then nodded her head in agreement.

"BUT FOR RIGHT NOW, LET ME SAY…

WITHOUT HOPE OR AGENDA…

AND BECAUSE IT'S CHRISTMAS…

AND YOU SHOULD ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH AT CHRISTMAS…

TO ME, EDITH CRAWLEY…YOU ARE AND HAVE FOREVER BEEN…

NOTHING BUT PERFECTION."

Edith's breath caught in her throat at the declaration. She lifted her eyes to his and held his gaze for a moment. He smiled at her, but just as he had said, it was not a smile that held hope or agenda, just simply…tender admiration.

"AND MY WASTED HEART WILL LOVE YOU…

UNTIL YOU LOOK LIKE THIS."

He then showed her a card with the picture of an ancient mummified corpse, and Edith found herself laughing at the sight. It felt good to laugh; it helped relieve the emotional tension that had fallen upon them both when she had opened the door.

Evelyn was smiling and lowered his cards. "Merry Christmas," he mouthed to her, before picking up his leftover cards and the boom box, and with one last smile…turned and began to walk away.

She stood there on the doorstep for a long moment, watching as the snow fell to cover Evelyn's footsteps. She felt tears burn the back of her eyes, and her heart swelled with emotion. Then, a sudden impulse filled her, and she decided to act and give Mr. Napier his Christmas present. She quickly jogged up to him, and he turned upon the sound of her heels tapping on the cobblestones. She reached his side, and they were both standing there, facing each other, their breath coming out as clouds in the cold air. Edith took a deep breath…and without another thought, took Evelyn's face in her hands…and leaned up on her tip toes and pressed her lips to his.

It wasn't like the kisses she shared with Anthony. This wasn't a passionate kiss. It wasn't even a kiss filled with promises or returned affections. It was simply…a kiss of gratitude, and one that told him that while she couldn't be what he had once wanted and may still want…she could give him this and that she hoped and prayed he would find happiness. It was a kiss that wished him all the happiness in the world. It was a kiss for her friend, and one of the best men she had the good fortune to know.

She released him then, her lips falling away and her eyes looking deeply into his own. He hadn't moved when she kissed him. He made no gesture to hold her or pull her back into his arms. He didn't even move his mouth against hers. He did close his eyes though, as if savoring the gift she had given him.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered back…and then with a parting smile, turned on her heel and jogged back to the house.

Evelyn stood there, watching her as she disappeared back inside. Only then did he breathe out, only then did he move, and he lifted his face to the snow that was falling from the sky and sighed. A small smile spread at his lips, and gave his head a shake as he renewed his footsteps.

"Enough," he murmured to himself. "Enough now."

Yes. Yes, that was all he needed. He was quite satisfied. And it was time to move forward…

* * *

Mary sighed as she continued to sign her name to a few more documents that laid across her desk. A gentle knock on her office door roused her from her work. "Yes?"

Mrs. Hughes poked her head inside and looked apologetic. "I'm about to leave, but I thought you would like a cup of tea before I go."

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, thank you! You are too kind," Mary thankfully murmured, taking the offered cup from the housekeeper's hands. "This is perfect," she said after taking a sip. "I needed this."

Mrs. Hughes smiled as she looked at the work on Mary's desk. "Burning the midnight oil?"

Mary softly chuckled. "I know, it's mad doing this now on Christmas Eve of all times, but I'll be traveling up to Yorkshire tomorrow for my family's celebration, so I wanted to get as much finished as I could."

Mrs. Hughes smiled at this. "It will be nice to get away and spend some time with family."

Mary laughed at this. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes…you haven't met my family." The two shared a laugh and Mary looked at the housekeeper with thoughtful eyes. "And yourself? Will you be traveling to Scotland for Christmas?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "No, I'll be staying here in London; but a friend of mine who's the chef at _The Edwardian_ invited me to join her for a Christmas get-together at the hotel."

Mary lifted her eyebrows at this news. "Well, that should be fun! And it sounds awfully luxurious!"

The housekeeper laughed and shook her head. "I don't know about luxurious, but it will be nice, joining friends and having company."

Mary nodded her head in agreement. Yes, it was good to be with people you loved…which once again brought her mind back to Matthew. What was he doing this night? What would he be doing tomorrow? Did he think about her? Did he know that despite what happened…she missed him? She bit her lip as she wondered these questions for the millionth time.

"Well, I wish you a very merry Christmas, Prime Minister," Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Oh!" she put a thick envelope down on Mary's desk. "Some Christmas cards sent to Number 10; thought you may like to look at them."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Mary murmured. "And merry Christmas to you as well!" The housekeeper smiled and left Mary in peace then, and with a sigh, she went back to her work, reading and signing various documents, pausing now and then to sip her tea.

…However it wasn't long before some unknown need struck her to open the envelope and have a look at the cards Mrs. Hughes had collected and left for her to read.

With a resolute sigh, she opened the envelope and began to pull the cards out at random. Most of them were from other members of the party (or rather, from their staff who had simply stamped the various ministers name on the inside of the card). Hardly any personal messages, but what did she expect? These were politicians after all.

But one card caught her eye. And for some reason…Mary wasn't sure why…she picked up the card that had the image of a boy and girl playing the snow and making angels…and she opened it.

_Dear Mary (whether you are Prime Minister or are crowned queen, you will always be Mary to me; I hope that doesn't offend)._

_ I want to apologize for my over-protective and possessive behavior on that night with Mr. Pemuk. I feel like a prized idiot, and I am more than aware that you can take care of yourself. But if I didn't make it obvious then, hopefully you will see that I behaved as I did because I care for you, a great deal. I always have, actually. In truth, when I learned this position had opened, I leapt at the chance. But I know that I crossed a line, and therefore understand why you had to do what you had to do. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I still remain proud for the opportunity to serve with you, and pray for many blessings on you in the future, both as Prime Minister, and as Mary Crawley. And…(well, if you can't say it at Christmas, when can you?) I am yours…always. Love, Matthew._

Her fingers were trembling. Mary stared at the card in her hands, and suddenly, a long, shaky breath escaped her lungs.

Oh God…he…he…

Was it possible? Because she…

She closed the card and closed her eyes, a sudden wave of emotion coursing through her. She opened her eyes and let out a great gasp, before grabbing the telephone on her desk. "Hello? Yes…I need a car—NOW!" she practically bellowed into the phone. "Yes, this very instant!" She hung up and took a deep breath, her heart racing and her eyes determined as she rose to her feet.

She had a former press secretary to find.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	17. Christmas Eve (part II)

_HAPPY NEW YEAR! Ok, I'm not going to get this entire story finished by the deadline I had originally hoped for (New Years Day) *but* I will get it finished within the 12 Days of Christmas (which ends on Jan. 6-which happens to be Christmas if you're Eastern Orthodox, but anyway!) HERE IS THE CONCERT SCENE! M/M fans, this is the chapter YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR! Plus lots of moments with other characters as well! I would *highly* recommend that as you read this chapter, especially when you get to the concert section, *do* listen to **"All I Want for Christmas" by Olivia Olson** (she's the girl who sings it in the film)...just go to Youtube and look it up. It will help enhance the reading experience I think :oP _

_OK! Enough chit-chat, ONTO THE STORY!_

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen_

**Christmas Eve (part II)**

The pub was packed.

Anna gasped upon entering, her eyes wide as she took in the amount of bodies crammed together at practically every table, people buying rounds for complete strangers, wishing them "Happy Christmas!" as they went. It truly was a merry atmosphere…and not entirely what she was looking for.

Anna didn't feel merry. In fact, she wanted to avoid any feeling of merriment and simply sit in misery with a pint of cider and stare off into the distance, thinking about how unfair life was and how she forever seemed doomed to unhappiness. A silly thought? Yes, but that was how she was feeling right now. And a packed pub like this was the last place she needed to be.

However, she hadn't even had the chance to turn around and walk away before she heard a somewhat familiar voice call out her name.

"ANNA?"

She turned and strained her eyes and neck to see who the voice belonged to. And when the crowds parted, allowing her the chance to see, Anna gasped at the old familiar face, one she hadn't seen in years.

"Gwen?"

The pretty, ginger-haired girl laughed and rushed over (or rushed as quickly as she could without trampling on anyone) to Anna's side, and enveloped her in a tight hug. "Oh gosh, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure—oh it's so good to see you!" Gwen gushed, hugging her some more. Despite her miserable mood, Anna couldn't help but return the hug, and found herself smiling back. "Come on, join us!" Gwen released Anna only to grab her hand.

"Us?"

Gwen nodded. "Some friends and coworkers of mine are having drinks," she pointed to a small group of friendly looking people waving from a corner. "We'll get you a round—oh there's so much I want to know! How long as it been? Four years? I can't believe it's been THAT long! And we both live in London! We can't let this happen again, Anna, we simply can't!" and before Anna could say anything further (or to protest being dragged away) Gwen grasped her wrist and was tugging her to the table.

Alright, I can stay for one drink, but then I'll make my excuses and go. She forced a smile as Gwen introduced her to the small group, then they ordered her a cider and she sat down next to them, squished between Gwen and another woman who was busy texting. "So how's the old flat?" Gwen asked, looking at Anna expectantly. The two of them had been flat mates a brief period of time. In truth, it was Gwen's flat originally, but after Gwen began working as a PA for various ministers in Parliament, she moved out to be closer to that part of the city. Anna remained, but they did try to get together for the occasional lunch or weekend activity. But Gwen's job was very demanding, and soon they fell out of touch. Anna knew that it wasn't all Gwen's fault. For example, every Christmas, Gwen invited Anna to join her and her group of friends for whatever festivities they had planned…and every year, Anna declined. Why had she declined? It made little sense and she found herself shaking her head at history of past behavior. _Am I really that much of a doormat? Even to myself? _

"Anna?"

She shook her head, trying to focus on what Gwen was saying. "Sorry, I…the flat is in excellent condition," she mumbled, remembering that was the last thing Gwen had asked her before her mind began to wander.

"Oh, well, that's great to hear, but…what I had asked is if you had any plans for Christmas?" despite all the declines, Gwen was still persistent in asking. "A bunch of us are getting together tomorrow, and going to _The Edwardian_ for Christmas lunch."

"Come and join us!" one of Gwen's friends grinned.

"My sister and her friends went there last year, and they said the food was outstanding!" another member of Gwen's group mentioned.

"They open the restaurant up to the public on Christmas Day," Gwen explained. "You don't have to be a hotel guest to attend. What do you think?"

Anna looked at the group of people, all of whom seemed very warm and friendly, even though she had only just met them. There were even some handsome faces amongst the group, whose smiles could make any girl blush. Was that the answer? Maybe the reason she was so miserable was because she couldn't move forward? Maybe it was time to do just that?

However, when she caught the gaze of one of Gwen's handsome friends, a different face once again filled her mind, a face whose eyes were full of such sadness that night when he wished her "Merry Christmas".

"Gwen…" she turned back to her friend and took a deep breath. "I…I need some advice."

"Oh!" Gwen put down her drink and nodded her head. "How can I help?"

"Well…" Anna's palms were sweaty and she tried to wipe them under the table. "Well…I have a coworker who…well you see, she's in love with a man who's…not completely available—"

"He's married?" someone at the table asked, but Gwen shot them a look that told them to more or less "butt out" of the conversation.

"No," Anna was quick to explain. "No, he's…he's divorced, actually."

Gwen nodded her head as she listened. "Is he…still involved with his ex-wife?"

Anna took a deep breath. "Yes, but not in the way you might be thinking."

"What other way is there?" someone else asked.

"SHUT UP!" Gwen hissed, and then asked her friend who was sitting on Anna's other side to let them out of the booth, and took Anna by the hand to lead her to a place that was a little more "private", although in a packed pub like this, that was hard to define. "Sorry about that; they're lovely people, really," Gwen apologized.

"It's alright," Anna murmured with a small smile. "Can't say that I blame them."

"Anyway, please continue," Gwen encouraged. "So, this man; he's divorced, but is somehow involved with his ex-wife, but…not in a sexual sense?"

_Oh God, I hope not._ No, no, she knew John enough to know that he wouldn't do that. "No, um…well, it's like this. She's not well, his ex. And because she has no family, at least none close by…he's taken the responsibility of seeing to her care."

Gwen's eyes widened at this. "Oh gosh…that _does_ sound complicated!"

Anna nodded. And I—I mean, _my friend_, she loves him…and…and he has indicated that he likes her, very much, but…I don't know, what can a woman do in such a situation? Knowing that you'll have to come second if a crisis arose? That whenever she calls out for help, he'll have to answer or perhaps even go and see to it…" She was sniffling and quickly brushing the tears away from her cheeks. "Or am I being selfish? I mean, he's a good man, Gwen, truly! How many men would do that? I don't know if I could love someone, let alone respect them completely, if they allowed another suffer, but…but at the same time, I don't want to disrespect myself; I've been thinking a lot lately that I let others walk all over me, and I'm tired of doing that, I'm tired of being passive and shy—but at the same time, I can't imagine myself loving—"

Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized she had given everything away. Not that Gwen looked surprised. "Well, Anna…" she said after taking a deep breath. "I don't envy you this heartache. I can see why…_your friend_…" she added with a small smile, "…is conflicted."

Anna nodded her head, grateful for Gwen's ability to not make her feel embarrassed. "But do you think…this woman whose in love with this man, should do?"

Gwen sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, in all honesty. I mean, it takes a great deal of strength, trust, and patience to be able to handle that sort of knowledge that…there may be times when, as you said, he would literally have to drop whatever it was that was happening to go and see to his ex. But you are right, it does say something good about him, how he's willing to help others when so many people wouldn't, in such situations. But also, you do deserve to be loved and cherished and not feel like you're second best…" she sighed again. "I guess the question becomes…are you both willing to find ways to work together through this? If…_your friend_…loves him as much as you say," she looked directly into Anna's eyes and Anna felt her cheeks rise with color. "And if you truly believe that he returns those feelings…then…all you can really do then, is try."

Try. That was the truth about any relationship, really. Try to make it work. Try to make each other happy. When bad things happen, try to work together to solve the problem. When someone screws up, try to forgive them and move forward. Try. _No one is perfect…we can only try to be perfect for the ones we love…_

Anna opened her mouth to thank Gwen for her advice, when suddenly the sharp sound of a mobile filled her ears. "Oh gosh!" Gwen gasped, digging into her pocket to pull out the phone. "Sorry, but I have to take this," she muttered, before lifting the phone to her ear. "Yes, Prime Minister?"

Anna's eyes widened at Gwen's greeting, and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had heard.

"Mr. Crawley? Um…all I know is that he lives somewhere in Wandsworth—I don't know where exactly, he joked that it was the 'dodgy end', near the high street. No, no, I'm sorry Prime Minister, I don't know his address…" Gwen bit her lip, looking worried. "Do you want me to go back to the office and try to—no? Are you sure? Alright…" Gwen paused for a moment. "Thank you, Prime Minister—and merry Christmas to you as well." She hung up.

Anna lifted her eyebrows. "Important call?"

Gwen nodded her head before giggling. "Um…yes, she wanted to get in touch with a former press secretary."

Anna's brow furrowed slightly at this information. Well…good luck to her; she may find herself knocking on every door in Wandsworth."

* * *

She had been knocking on every door in Wandsworth. Or so it felt. Her driver knew of the so-called "dodgy-end", and they found the high street, and now…it was just as a matter of knocking on doors to try and find out which one belonged to Matthew.

It was her own damned fault for racing out of her office so fast without pausing to think about how to find him. She realized then that she had no idea where he lived, not his address, not his street, not even what part of London he resided in. Lord, there was so much she needed to learn, that she should already know, but didn't! But now was not the time for chastisement. She could do that later after she had found Matthew.

They had so far knocked on sixty-two doors. Only sixty-two, but it felt like a thousand. And out of those sixty-two, sixty had been home to answer. She was greeted by all sorts of different faces. Little, blue-haired ladies whose mouths fell open in shock upon realizing who she was; children demanding that she sing carols (she sang one at one house, but was put to shame by her bodyguard, who also happened to be Welsh), and not too surprising, several people who slammed their door in her face and told her and the government to "get off their doorstep" in rather colorful words. But none of them possessed Matthew.

"Prime Minister, maybe you should have one of us knock instead—" her bodyguard tried to suggest, but Mary waved her hand as a sign of waving away the suggestion.

"No, I need to see him, I want to be there at his doorstep if he is there," she sighed, walking up to house number sixty-three, and hoping this would be it, although highly doubting it as well. She knocked and waited a few seconds, counting slowly to five, before knocking a second time. She then heard movement on the other side and was grateful that at least someone was home.

A lovely woman with dark hair and pale blue eyes answered. "Hello," Mary said with a strained smile. "I do beg your pardon, but…does Matthew live here?"

The woman stared at her, her face of mixture of shock and disbelief. Mary waited, hoping the woman wouldn't keep her waiting as long as some of the older ladies she had met earlier had. "Matthew?" she finally repeated, as soon as she was able to find her voice.

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "Matthew Crawley?"

"No…" the woman replied and Mary felt her face fall. _Onto house number sixty-four!_ "He lives next door."

Mary froze. "I…I beg your pardon?"

The woman pointed to the house next door to hers. "Matthew lives there; tall, blonde, fairly good looking?" she said with a bit of a blush.

Mary swallowed and nodded her head. Yes, that was exactly how she would describe him too. "Thank you," she finally replied, her body suddenly tense with nervousness. The woman shook her head, still trying to get over her amazement at seeing the Prime Minister of all people standing on her front step. Mary turned now to the house next door…and took a deep breath, before lifting her hand to knock—

The door flew open.

"We're massively late!"

"The show starts in less than ten minutes, come on, we got to go!"

"I need to find my fucking coat!"

"Don't curse in front of the children!"

"Oh shut up!"

"OH!" a collective gasp went up from the small crowd of people that hovered in the doorway as they stared at Mary, standing there looking just as surprised as they looked.

"What is it? Who's there?" a woman's voice was straining over the small crowd, and they finally parted to let her through. Mary met the woman's pretty green eyes, and she stared back at her, now with the same surprise like all the others. "Oh…hello!" the woman greeted, a smile slowly spreading across her pale face.

Mary opened her mouth to reply, not sure who this person was, but then she froze again as she heard Matthew's voice ring loud over the lot of them, "Has anyone seen the camera? Lavinia? Do you know where it is?"

_Lavinia?_ Mary's eyes flew back to the woman who was once Matthew's fiancée, and felt her cheeks glow red with a touch of jealousy and envy at the woman's prettiness.

"Matthew, um…I think you should come down!" Lavinia called out. Within a few seconds, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, and Matthew looked at Lavinia with confusion as to why he needed to come down at once…and then froze and stared, upon seeing her.

"Mary?" He coughed quickly and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I mean, Prime Minister?"

Mary bit her lip and looked down somewhat bashfully at the way he had said her name by accident. She realized now how much she loved hearing him say her name.

"Um…" Matthew ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely confused on what to say or think. "Um…right, I um…well—"

"I'm Lavinia!" Lavinia greeted, stepping forward and holding her hand out to Mary. Mary blushed and took Lavinia's hand in hers to shake. "And this is my dad," Lavinia said, pointing to a shorter, older man just behind her. "And my Uncle and Aunt and my cousins…"

"Don't forget me!" a child's voice shouted from the background. Mary watched as Matthew hoisted a small boy up from the ground who was wearing a rather ridiculous looking octopus costume.

"This is Michael," Matthew introduced to Mary with a bit of a sheepish smile. "My godson."

Mary remembered the boy's face from the picture on Matthew's mobile. Now she remembered clearly that entire conversation they had once had, about how Lavinia's son, Michael, was going to be performing in his school's nativity play, and so here were all of Lavinia's family, at Matthew's place, on their way to go—

"Mummy," the little boy asked, looking at Lavinia. "Who is this lady?"

"This is Prime Minister," Lavinia said with a smile.

Little Michael grinned. "She looks like a queen!" Mary blushed.

"That she does…" Matthew murmured, and now Mary swore her heart had stopped beating.

"I…um…I'm sorry to come here at this hour on Christmas Eve—"

"Oh please, it's alright!" Lavinia assured, turning to look at Matthew and giving him a knowing smile. Now it was Matthew's turn to burn brightly.

"Although we are terribly late, my dear," Lavinia's father sighed. "We need to go if we hope to make it on time."

"Of course," Lavinia agreed, and then turned back to Matthew. "Why don't you and the Prime Minister stay here and discuss whatever it is you need to discuss—"

"Oh, you mean Matthew won't be coming?" Lavinia's aunt sadly moaned.

"I don't want to keep you from the Michael's concert—" Mary tried to reason, feeling a little embarrassed now.

"Oh! Oh no, you won't—" Lavinia tried to reassure.

"You know how long I put effort into this costume for Michael?" her aunt continued. "Eight is a lot of legs," she sighed.

"REALLY, IT'S NOT A PROBLEM!" Lavinia hissed at her aunt before turning back to Mary and putting on a dazzling smile. Poor little Michael looked so confused.

"How about I drive you to the school?" Mary announced, hoping this would solve the problem.

A collective "ooohhhh!" went up from the Swire clan, but Lavinia was quick to shuffle them all inside the police car that led the way ahead of the Prime Minister's. Mary found herself in her own car…along with Matthew…and little Michael in his octopus costume between them.

"Alright, where to?" Mary asked, looking at Matthew and trying to get her nerves to calm down.

"It's just around the corner, actually," Matthew said with that sheepish grin of his. Mary nodded her head and told the driver to go. An awkward pause filled the car then; Michael just stared straight ahead, trying very hard not to mess with the suction cups that his aunt had sewed onto the tentacles of his costume. "So, I…I can't deny, it was indeed a surprise to see you standing outside my house," he finally spoke.

Mary blushed and nodded her head. "Yes, I um…well, I got your card—"

"My Christmas card?"

She nodded her head. "Yes…and…well, I…I had to see you."

Matthew swallowed and nodded his own head. "I see," he whispered. "Um…what did you think?"

Mary was fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "Well, I thought…I thought it was a very nice card…"

"Mary," Matthew finally said, not caring about her title any longer. "I meant what I said; I am sorry for my behavior with Mr. Pemuk—well, to a point, I'm sorry. I'm not sorry for trying to punch him into oblivion I will confess, but I am sorry for disappointing you—"

"Disappointing me? NO! No, Matthew, you couldn't—you _didn't_ disappoint me, I…I should be apologizing to you for how I behaved and handled things—"

"No, I understand why you had to do what you had to do—"

"A braver person would have confronted you and talked to you about why the decision was made. And…and it truthfully had nothing to do with you fighting Mr. Pemuk or anything related to that."

Matthew's eyes widened and he looked over Michael's head directly at her. "It didn't?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then why? Please…"

She stared at him, her heart beating a mile a minute. This was her moment, the moment to tell him everything, that the second she stepped into Number 10 Downing and saw him standing there with the rest of her staff, she felt it. Perhaps she had felt it all her life? She was very fond of him as a child, and she did think him to be very gallant and handsome when they were teenagers. And the more she got to know him while working together, the more she knew deep down that yes…

She was in love with Matthew Crawley.

"Tell me, Mary…please," he whispered. Mary took a deep breath and kept her eyes locked with is as she began to speak—

"WE'RE HERE!" Michael shouted, looking eager to jump out of the car.

"Oh!" Mary gasped, surprised by the shout. She looked out the window and saw the exterior of the school, and a large group of parents making their way inside. "Wow, that really was just around the corner."

"Come on, Uncle Matthew!" Michael groaned, tugging on Matthew's hand.

"You should go," Mary whispered.

"What were you going to say?"

"Uncle Matthew!"

"Please, he's going to be late," Mary smiled at Michael and waved her hand. "Break a leg—or a tentacle in this case, Michael!"

Michael however decided to take the opportunity to grab her hand as well, and tried pulling her out of the car as well. "Come with us Queen Lady!"

"Oh Michael," Mary sighed, glancing at Matthew and then back at the child. "I can't, I'm sorry—"

"Why not?"

Mary looked up at Matthew who now had a mad grin on his face. "What?"

"Why not?" he repeated. "Why not come inside and see the concert?"

Mary looked around to make sure no one else could see, let alone hear them, before getting out of the car and hissing at him, "Are you mad? I can't go in there! How would that look? The Prime Minister trying to stir up support and stealing children's thunder—"

"What if I told you I know a way you can watch the concert from the safety of anyone's attention?"

She eyed Matthew with curious eyes, and saw that he was extremely serious. He knew something, and she couldn't deny it; she was intrigued.

"Please?" Michael asked again.

Mary sighed and closed her eyes. "Alright, but…you better be sure that no one will ever find out I was here!"

Matthew laughed and took her hand. "Follow me, then," he grinned.

* * *

"Oh look at this!" Isobel grinned as she flipped through the school's concert program. "You never told me that your granddaughter was singing the final number?"

Richard blushed as he looked at the program. "Joanna didn't tell me, in all honesty!" he laughed. "She simply said there was some big 'surprise' at the end of the show."

"Well, now we know I suppose," Isobel murmured with a grin of her own.

Richard smiled and took a deep breath…before moving his hand over hers, which was resting on the arm rest. Isobel looked down at his hand, and felt her insides melt. Slowly, she let her fingers curl open and accept his hand in hers.

A few rows down, Sybil was waving her hands at Edith and Anthony as they entered the room. "Over here!" she hissed, trying not to be too loud, not that it would matter; the place was so crowded it would be impossible to hear anyone shouting. Thankfully, Edith did see her and quickly led Anthony to the saved seats both Sybil and her father had set aside.

"This is a _school concert_, yes?" Edith asked, trying not to trip over anyone's feet as she made her way to her sister. "That curtain is not going to open and reveal Thomas Barrow, standing there, naked—"

"Oh, bite your tongue Edith," Robert shuddered at the thought.

Sybil laughed. "I know, this place is a madhouse! Mama had said something about several schools getting together this year to put this show on; I honestly don't know if there will be enough seats!"

"Oh dear, I hope we didn't have to spare one for your mother?" Anthony asked as he took his seat and noticed there were no more vacant in the row.

"No, Cora will be backstage with her students," Robert explained. "And I should warn you, Anthony—this is hardly the sort of prize-winning drama one sees on the BBC; you're in for a very…'unique' take, on the story of Christ's birth."

"Yes, complete with shellfish!" Sybil added with a laugh.

Edith smiled at her sister and linked her arm through hers. "Well?" she whispered.

Sybil's brow furrowed. "Well what?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "Well, have you given anymore thought to what we discussed?"

Sybil turned a bright shade of red then, and stuck her nose into her program. "I um…I'm still thinking about it."

Edith sighed and opened her own program. "Don't take too long in deciding," she muttered.

Even further down, away from where people in the audience were sitting, Daisy was looking at the massive crowds of people from the floor of the auditorium and was absolutely gob smacked at the amount of people who were there. _Oh no, I don't have NEARLY enough!_ Mrs. Patmore had dropped her off at the school and she had filled the chef's car to the brim, but still…she saw no way that the baked goods and sweets she had made could feel this multitude of school children and families.

"Look out! I can't see!"

Daisy gasped and jumped out of the way when she saw someone approaching with their arms full of several large, tall boxes, stacked so high that they were blocking the holder's view.

"William, slow down!"

Daisy's eyes widened even more and she turned her head and gasped at the sight of _The Edwardian's_ concierge, tall and stalwart, carrying his own share of boxes. "Mr. Carson?" she gasped.

He smiled, although it was his usual stiff smile. "Hello, Daisy."

"What…what on earth…" she paused and then remembered he had spoken William's name. She turned then and gasped once more upon seeing William standing there, putting the boxes down on the table to which she stood beside. "William?"

He turned then and looked at her, his face darkening with color but a bashful smile playing across his lips. "Hello, Daisy," he murmured, just as Mr. Carson had done.

"I…I don't understand, what…" she was babbling, she knew, but she was confused by why both _The Edwardian's_ concierge and footman were there.

"Should we remove the box lids now, William?" Mr. Carson asked.

William shook his head. "Not yet, Mr. Carson—we want to wait until the concert is over; don't want any of the treats to grow stale."

_Treats? Stale? What on earth…?_ Daisy's brow furrowed and moved to get a peek inside one of the boxes, but just then the lights began to dim, and Daisy realized she would not have a chance to look until after the auditorium was lit up once again.

Backstage, it was utter pandemonium. Cora was ready to pull her hair out while she was frantically trying to direct children on where to go, and not to pull on their costumes or tear the orange tissue paper off the lobster heads she had spent so much time creating. She looked at her list of children and groaned. "Where is Michael? He's the only one I'm missing—"

"Right here Mrs. Crawley!"

Cora sighed and turned to face Michael, ready to scold him for making her worry, but instead gasped loudly when she saw the boy tugging on the sleeves of two adults…including her eldest daughter!

"Mary?" she gasped.

Mary blushed brightly. "Mama! I…I um…" Any other words Mary was going to say were suddenly squeezed out of her as her mother grabbed her and crushed her tightly to her body.

"Oh my dear, my dear!" Cora practically wept with joy and clung to Mary as if her life depended upon it.

Mary returned the hug but looked a little worried (not to mention she was finding it difficult to breathe). "Mama, you're starting to hurt—"

"Oh! Oh, sorry," Cora apologized, quickly wiping away at her eyes.

Mary looked at her mother and her brow furrowed with confusion. "Are you…alright?"

"What? Oh! Oh yes, I'm fine, I'm fine, just…stress, as you can understand; herding children is like herding cats," she attempted to laugh. "And…oh, it's just different, not having you in the house on Christmas Eve, but…oh never mind, I'm just an over-sensitive emotional wreak—American, you know," she laughed at herself and looked at Matthew, frowning slightly. "You…seem familiar…"

"Mama, this is Matthew—Matthew Crawley, remember? Our cousin?" Mary introduced.

"Oh gracious!" Cora gasped. "Matthew! I…I haven't seen you since you were…what? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

He chuckled and nodded his head. "Something like that, yes," he blushed.

"Matthew is my press secretary, Mama," Mary quickly explained.

Matthew looked at her with interest and lifted a questioning eyebrow. "I am?"

Mary blushed even more, but didn't turn to look at him. "Yes," she said with some finality. "And…Michael is his godson, and they both invited me to the play—"

"Oh how wonderful!" Cora grinned, once again reaching out to enfold Mary in her arms. "Oh it's just so wonderful to have you here…my baby girl—I know, I know, you're hardly a baby, but still—" Cora took a deep breath to keep her sniffles at bay. "Anyway, where are you sitting?"

"Oh, um…" Mary glanced up at Matthew for help.

"We'll just watch from backstage—it's probably for the best that no one knows the Prime Minister is here."

"Oh!" Cora quickly nodded her head. "Yes, yes, of course, your secret is safe with me."

Mary watched her mother's face again, still feeling a little troubled. "Mama, are you sure that you're—?"

"Gracious, I can hear the music; it's started. Come along Michael!" she ushered the boy away from Mary and Matthew, leaving the two of them standing in the corridor.

"Come on," Matthew grinned, now being the boy pulling on Mary's sleeve. "This way," he whispered, leading her further backstage. Mary was careful where she stepped; there were old props from who knows how many plays ago, lying on the ground, littering the stage floor from behind the back curtains. Matthew held her hand as he helped her over the various props, until they reached a small area, where the curtains parted just slightly, and she could look out and see the students moving across the stage, singing traditional carols, and making way for Joseph, Mary, the shepherds…and all sorts of sea creatures.

"An unusual nativity play," Mary murmured to herself.

Matthew chuckled and Mary gasped slightly as she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. How close was he standing? And was it her imagination? Or…was the warmth that was radiating behind her coming from his body?

They stood like that for a long time, watching the play unfold. As one act followed another, Mary was sure Matthew was moving closer. She swore his hand came up and rested on her shoulder. And…she couldn't deny, she found herself leaning back…until her head was resting against his shoulder and her back against his chest.

"Mary…" he whispered, and she closed her eyes. Were his lips grazing her hair? "What were you going to tell me…earlier, in the car?"

She wasn't sure if she could speak. She wasn't sure if she had much in the way of a voice. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she felt his arms move around her waist. "I…" she began, trying to hear her voice over the massive drumming of her heart. "Only that…that I feel the same…"

"The same?"

She nodded. "Yes," she breathed. "I…I lo—"

They both gasped when someone suddenly came around the corner. They weren't sure if it was a teacher or a stage technician or another student; they didn't stick around to find out. They both moved very quickly, Matthew's hands on Mary's waist still, guiding her quickly away from any intruding eyes, moving them around a one of those large props…and suddenly Mary felt her back against the prop…and found her body pressed closely to Matthew.

She stared up at him and him down at her. Despite the darkness of the backstage area, they could see each other's faces, and their eyes kept moving back and forth, from holding the other's gaze…to looking at the other's lips.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMING THIS EVENING!"

Mary held her breath and both she and Matthew froze as they listened to her mother speak into a microphone.

"We have one final number for you," Cora continued. "A great big send off, performed by Joanna Clarkson-Robb and members of Mr. Stevens' class. Once again, thank you all for coming and Merry Christmas!"

The audience applauded as Mr. Stevens, the teacher, walked out onto the stage to take his seat at the piano. However…he wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, too busy smiling and waving at a few of the cheering members of the audience—and he accidently stepped off the stage and landed with a mighty crash on the first row of audience members.

A great gasp went up from the crowd, and Cora rushed back on stage, looking horrified by what had happened. "Oh no, someone call a doctor!"

"No need!" Richard bellowed, rising from his chair and moving quickly down the aisle to where poor Mr. Stevens was groaning in pain.

Anthony touched Edith's arm as Dr. Clarkson passed. "That's my doctor!" he whispered in her ear. "The one who I asked to come in and serve as a consultant for the show!"

William, along with Daisy and Charles, also watched as the doctor moved to attend the moaning teacher. William looked up at the lady teacher who was standing on the stage, looking confused on what else should be done. And a sudden thought occurred to him.

"WILLIAM!" Charles hissed, as he watched the footman approach the stage. "What are you doing?"

William turned and met Charles' gaze. "The show must go on, Mr. Carson." He looked at Daisy then, and feeling so bold, gave her a wink, which certainly seemed to bring a blush to her cheek. He moved to the stage and motioned for Cora to bend down to hear what he had to say.

Cora's eyes widened as the stranger told her he could help. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I mean, do you know the song?"

"I'm pretty good at sight-reading," he confessed. "I'm sure I can play it."

"Oh, you would be the hero of the hour if you did!" she admitted, and so William leapt up onto the stage, and moved over to the piano, just beyond where Dr. Clarkson was now tending to his newest patient. He looked at the music, scanned it quickly with his eyes, and then nodded his head at Cora.

"Well…the show must go on, as they say!" Cora tried to show good humor despite the fact that all she wanted to do was scream her frustrations. "Anyway…here is Joanna Clarkson-Robb singing 'All I Want for Christmas'!"

William hit a key on the piano, a hush fell, and a girl's voice started to fill the auditorium.

"_I don't want a lot for Christmas,  
There is just one thing I need…  
I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree…  
I just want you for my own,  
More than you could ever know,  
Make my wish come true…  
All I want for Christmas…is you!"_

William ran his fingers down the piano keys, and stage lights suddenly came to life, revealing a band behind the student who was swaying and dancing to the music as she continued to sing, along with a chorus of students on risers behind her.

The tempo sped up and the audience began to clap with the music while William continued playing. Daisy watched from the auditorium floor and grinned as William once again winked at her. Even Charles was impressed by William's piano-playing, and despite his normally rigid stance on showing displays of "frivolity"…he too found himself clapping along with the rest of the audience.

"_Oh I won't ask for much this Christmas,  
I won't even wish for snow…  
I'm just gonna keep on waiting,  
Underneath the mistletoe…"_

Edith grinned and turned to Anthony who was smiling back at her and leaned over to kiss her quickly before resuming his attention to the stage once again. Sybil looked over at them and smiled. From her seat, Isobel was clapping and grinning like a young girl once again, and she met Richard's eyes from the ground, where he had helped Mr. Stevens sit up and had bandaged his wound with help from the school's first aid kit. Despite the task he was performing, Richard smiled back, and Isobel felt a girlish blush wash over her cheeks. She couldn't help but wonder if there was a chance for mistletoe in her future?

"_I won't make a list and send it,  
To the North Pole for St. Nick,  
I won't even stay awake,  
To hear those magic reindeer click…  
Cause I just want you here tonight,  
Holding on to me so tight,  
What more can I do?  
Baby, all I want for Christmas is you!"_

Sybil's mind wandered as it had done several times a day for the past few days, ever since she returned to London, to a certain Irishman back in Dublin. An Irishman, who had, both figuratively as well as literally (sort of), swept her off her feet and brought hope and longing back to her heart. As the lyrics of the song washed over her, she felt her heart leap and both her little feminist and seductress urging her to listen to her sister's advice and find that fresh start she was craving, with _him_, holding on to her so tight…

"_Oh the lights are shining,  
So brightly everywhere…  
And the sound of children's  
Laughter fills the air!  
And everyone is singing!  
I hear those sleigh bells ringing!  
Santa won't you bring me the one I really need?  
Won't you please bring my baby to me?"_

Backstage, Matthew and Mary had stayed frozen in their place ever since they had moved and ever since they had heard Mary's mother speak into the microphone. Now, even though the auditorium was clearly jumping with energy to the song, they still had their eyes locked with one another.

Matthew's hands were still at her waist, and had yet to let her go. His body was also pressed very close to hers, and while her hands were splayed against his chest, she hadn't tried to push him away. If anything…her hands were moving up to his shoulders…and she was drawing him in.

"Mary…" he whispered again, his head slowly lowering closer to hers so she could hear him better. But his eyes never left hers…or her lips. "Tell me, please," he urged. "Why did you ask for me to be removed from your staff? Why did you come looking for me tonight? What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

"_Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas,  
This is all I'm asking for…  
I just want to see my baby,  
Standing right outside my door…"_

"It's the same reason…" she began to explain. "Why I let you go…and why I came in search of you tonight," she whispered, her fingers now curling at the back of his neck, drawing his head even closer, her own eyes beginning to flutter closed as her lips drew in a shaky breath. "Because…"

"_I just want you for my own,  
More than you could ever know,  
Make my wish come true…  
Baby all I want for Christmas…_

"I love you, Matth—"

"_Is YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!"_

Mary never finished saying his name because his mouth was atop hers and kissing her fiercely. Her hands pulled at the base of his skull, urging him to deepen the kiss, and he didn't need any encouragement. Her mouth sighed open, welcoming his tongue and he opened his mouth to welcome hers. His hands moved from her waist to her back, pulling her even closer to him, their heartbeats beating together as one while their chests were pressed closely. They continued kissing like this, letting the music flow and move all around them, vaguely aware of the audience applauding beyond them to the end of the performance, but not caring. They were lost in their own world, a world where she wasn't the Prime Minister and he wasn't her former press secretary, but they were simply Mary and Matthew, a woman and man in love.

However, they were brought out of their passionate, blissful world, when the curtain that had been concealing them suddenly pulled back…and there they were, their lips barely parted, her lipstick clearly smudged on his mouth, her hair somewhat disheveled, and the both of them still having their arms wrapped around each other.

You could have heard a pin drop from the shock at the scene.

Matthew and Mary stared in horror back at the audience while the spotlights overhead shown down brightly upon them. "Oh God…" Mary groaned.

"It's alright," Matthew reassured, slowly releasing her and taking her hand in his, his fingers curling around hers. "Just…smile and wave, Prime Minister."

She lifted an eyebrow at his words. "Is that your professional answer as a party press secretary?"

He chuckled and turned and waved at the crowd. Well, what else could be done? She took a deep breath and put on a smile, also waving at the audience as if she were attending some rally before an election.

Suddenly, despite the awkwardness of the situation, the room erupted into massive applause, and the people (who were already on their feet after Joanna's performance) were shouting cheers and making whistles as both Mary and Matthew continued waving.

From the middle of the auditorium, two young women were cheering very loudly, and Mary blushed as she recognized the voice of her youngest sibling, shouting, "THAT'S MY SISTER!"

Just beyond them, still looking shocked at the sight, Isobel Crawley was also clapping. Now it all made sense, her son's recent melancholy! And judging from how things looked…he wasn't going to be feeling melancholy anymore! _When Richard told me his granddaughter promised a 'big surprise ending' I doubt she meant something like this!_

Robert wasn't quite sure what to make of the whole thing. He wasn't necessarily clapping, and he was squinting from his seat. "Good Lord; is that…Matthew Crawley?" he asked his daughters. However, they were too busy cheering and making various whistling sounds to pay his question any heed.

Cora was still backstage, watching from the curtains with her students, all of them gasping as they realized who the woman on stage was. They began giggling amongst themselves, and Cora just looked on…feeling her eyes well up with happy tears for her daughter. They called her _"Cold Crawley"_ in the papers; but anyone could see that "cold" was the last emotion Mary Crawley was displaying.

Charles and Daisy were also clapping…but not for the recently revealed kissing couple. Charles was smiling with pride at William, and Daisy's face just seemed to be turning pinker and pinker by the second. William grinned back at both of them.

Mary and Matthew continued waving and smiling and Mary even did a little curtsey, but was extremely grateful when the curtains finally closed, her face glowing and red like Rudolph's shiny nose. "Oh God," she groaned, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. "I've just become a Youtube sensation, haven't I?" she shook her head. "I've just given my enemies a lovely Christmas present."

"You'll come out of this with your head still high," Matthew reassured, taking her hand once more and giving it a squeeze.

"That's easy for you to say," she muttered. "You don't have to do interviews for 'Question Time'."

He smiled and brought her hand to his lips. "This is one of those moments in politics where telling the truth is for the best. Yes, you will have enemies who will try to use this against you and embarrass you…but if you come out looking strong and without shame…then you will overcome this."

She looked at him and took in his smile. What had just happened could be potential political suicide—and yet, she felt strong and confident. She credited those feelings completely to Matthew, whose warm, loving hand was holding hers and helping her stand tall. Yes…yes, she could overcome this. And no, she was not ashamed for kissing him, the man she loved.

"You'll be alright," he murmured once again, before bending his head and kissing her cheek.

She reached up and ran her fingers across his cheek. "No…" she shook her head, before pulling his head back down to her lips. "_We'll_ be alright."

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Yes, Prime Minister," he murmured, before letting his lips touch hers again.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_THERE! I hope that exorcises some of that CS nastiness. Coming up next, Sybil has a change of heart about going to Downton, and William and Carson get into a mad car chase to get to the airport before Daisy leaves for Paris!_


	18. Christmas Eve (part III)

_MONSTER CHAPTER AHEAD! My longest one to date, but hopefully you will enjoy it. Lots happening here, and while it is a little sad in a few places, don't worry, because happy endings are coming for EVERYONE. 3 more chapters left after this one...I will get this done by Sunday, before the 12 Days of Christmas are up. Anyway, the big "airport scene" is in this chapter, and I recommend, for *extra feels*, listen to _**"PM's Love Theme"** _(from the Love Actually soundtrack) while William is running through it. **www . youtube watch ? v = b8kZPHdd_ a4&list = FL9xHShmdqkDKwtSUwMET3kw&index = 2** (remove spaces, obviously). Please review and thanks!_

* * *

_Chapter Eighteen_

**Christmas Eve (part III)**

To say that that year's school's Christmas concert would be remembered as the most…_unforgettable_…Christmas concert they would ever produce, would be an understatement. Indeed, it was the sort of event people would be talking about for ages, the night the Prime Minister was caught backstage with some handsome, young man, snogging like a horny teenager.

Matthew and Mary made a quick escape, passing Cora backstage as they left. She watched them run down the back hallway, hand in hand, and laughing like a pair of naughty school children. She smiled as she watched them go, happy that her eldest found what seemed to be genuine love. Hopefully her daughter would still be joining them tomorrow for Christmas, but she wouldn't be surprised if Mary now brought a guest. Yes, she would like to be reacquainted with Matthew Crawley once again…and make sure that this really was love that they were feeling, and not some blind "holiday passion" that had developed over glasses of eggnog and sprigs of mistletoe.

She sighed and smiled at all her students, who were gushing and talking a mile a minute about the concert and what had happened. "_You_ were all wonderful!" she told them again, hoping that despite the extra surprise that was revealed at the end of the show, their parents would at least remember their children's performance. "Now go and find your families and be sure to get some treats! Merry Christmas!"

The children leapt for joy at the mention of treats, and scattered quickly, more so to get something to eat rather than find their parents.

Daisy was hard at work, replacing empty plates of sweets and biscuits with filled ones. Mr. Carson was helping her, and he seemed to notice that she would tense up every time a plate became barren by the amount of hungry fingers that were grabbing for something. "Not to worry, Daisy," he reassured, picking up another box that both he and William had carried inside, and helping the sous-chef refill the plates.

"I can't believe it," she gasped, watching as he revealed more biscuits and tarts and cakes. "Did Mrs. Patmore make all of these?"

Charles glanced up at the stage where William was momentarily "trapped"; several teachers were shaking his hand, congratulating him and thanking him for stepping in when it was needed. He was polite and smiled and thanked the teachers and school staff for their compliments, but it was obvious he was anxious to get off the stage.

"No," Charles answered, his eyes still on William. "No…it wasn't her." William had asked him not to say anything to Daisy; he was hoping that Daisy would figure it out on her own, but at the same time, he didn't want Daisy to feel embarrassed. Charles hoped Daisy would figure it out too; he wanted his young friend to be happy, especially after all the hard work he had done.

"It was very kind of William to bring these things," she murmured. "And you too, Mr. Carson."

Charles forced a smile and nodded his head. "Yes, well…it was William's idea," he explained, hoping that would drop a hint. "He had learned about you being asked to cater this event…and wanted to help."

She turned her attentions back to the stage and smiled at William, who was still being surrounded by different teachers and staff. "That was very thoughtful…" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else, but Charles heard and smiled at this.

Cora was making her way through the crowds, smiling and murmuring messages of "Merry Christmas" to different parents and students as she went, always smiling, always looking happy, despite the ache in her heart.

"A job well done!" Robert congratulated from just behind her shoulder. Cora had her back to him and closed her eyes momentarily, trying to prepare herself for what she was about to do and the knowledge she was about to face. Although how one prepared themselves for such things, she wasn't completely sure. "Although I doubt that last bit at the end was planned," he teased, coming up behind her and offering her her coat.

Cora turned then and took the coat from his hands, rather than letting him help her put it on. "Where are the girls?" she asked, looking over his shoulder to see if they were close by. She didn't want them to hear what she had to say.

"Anthony went to get the car and Edith his helping Sybil hobble backstage to see if they can get a glimpse of Mary, who has no doubt disappeared by now," Robert explained. "Tell me…was that Matthew Crawley? It's been years since I've seen him, but…I noticed a resemblance from—"

"Robert," Cora interrupted, her happy, festive smile now gone from her face. "I…there's something I need to ask you."

Robert's brow furrowed at her words, and moved closer, lifting a hand to touch her arm. "Are you alright? You look pale and—" he noticed how she moved away from him, as if avoiding his touch. Robert swallowed, a bad feeling starting to grow in the pit of his stomach. "Cora, what's wrong?"

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Crawley!" young Michael shouted as he passed, clinging to his mother's hand, who also waved and passed along the same warm greeting. Robert noticed how Cora quickly put that smile back on for her student and his mother, before turning back to face him. Indeed, something was wrong.

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "Tell me…" she began. "What would you do if you were in my position?"

He frowned at this question. "What position is that?"

"Well…" she looked down at the ground, as if summoning courage to continue. "Well, let's say…a man, specifically a husband, bought a gift…" she lifted her eyes and met his, which were still looking at her with a curious expression. "And you sneak a peek at this gift, shocked and surprised by what he had done, and find yourself counting down the days till Christmas so you can open this gift—"

"Did you know about the mix tape?" Robert asked, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Because I could tell that something had happened, when you opened it—you seemed…well, forgive me, but you disappointed, but maybe I misread—"

"No," she stopped him, doing everything in power not to rage or scream or cry or slap or all of the above. That was partially why she chose to confront him about this now, while there were still people all around them. "No, Robert…I'm not talking about the tape…" she took a deep breath and held his gaze. "I'm talking about the necklace."

She watched as the color slowly began to drain from his face. And that small smile that had been curling at the corner of his mouth began to twist upside down, until he was frowning…and looking utterly horrified and embarrassed at what she was revealing.

"So," she decided to go on as she had been doing before he had interrupted. "You realize that your husband has bought _someone else_ this necklace, and that…it's not for you," she paused to wrap her arms even tighter around herself to keep her shaking to a minimum. "So…what do you do? Because you find yourself questioning, 'is it just a necklace?' or 'is it sex and a necklace?' or…worst of all…'is it a necklace…and _love?_'" She looked up at him, but noticed that his face was now looking down at the ground as she had been doing a few seconds earlier. Still, she continued, feeling the need to get her feelings, her frustrations, and yes, even her fears, out for him to hear. "So…would you stay?" she asked, her voice strained with emotion and desperation to hear him talk. "After all, you've been married to this person for thirty-five years! So…would you stay?" she asked. "Or would you just cut and run because the last thirty-five years have been a sham?"

"It's NOT a sham!" Robert finally spoke, lifting his head and looking at her with intense eyes and the same desperation she had been feeling and speaking. "It's _not_ a sham," he repeated, his voice a little softer, but his emotion just as thick.

She was trying to keep the tears at bay, but she was failing miserably. "But how can I know that, Robert?" she asked, quickly wiping her cheeks before anyone would take notice.

"Cora…I…" he stopped and closed his eyes, before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "Nothing has happened—"

"Oh stop it!" she hissed, stomping her foot with anger. "Now is _not_ the time! And quite frankly, I don't think I can stand here and listen to you tell me what is and what isn't happening; I don't know if I can even believe a word that comes out of your mouth about all of this…" she was trembling with such sorrow and rage and she knew she had to get away before she did scream or throw her fist at him.

Robert stood there and held his breath. He felt so helpless and he felt so foolish. So stupidly foolish! And he knew she was right; he knew that anything he tried to say to explain himself, and to assure her that he loved her, no one but her…would be lost. He had made a mistake. A massive mistake. And he was now being punished for his foolishness.

Cora took a deep breath and looked at him, feeling she had her emotions under control once again. "I think…I think it best if you go home tonight," she whispered. "Go home and…and stay the night here."

He looked at her with wide eyes. "Go home? But…but what about—"

"I'll go ahead with the Anthony and the girls," she explained. "We'll take our train to Downton and you drive up tomorrow. It won't be too unusual; after all, Mary will not be arriving until tomorrow afternoon—"

"But Cora—"

"I'll tell the girls that you're not feeling well to travel; that you need to go home and rest, but that you insist we go on ahead without you."

His heart was breaking as he listened to the lie she was spinning to explain his sudden absence. She didn't want him to be with her right now; she wanted him far away from her, to the point of sleeping in separate beds and in separate parts of the country.

"I…I don't know what to do about the anniversary party," she mumbled under her breath. "I suppose we'll just go on with it as we had planned. But…when it's over, we'll sit down and discuss what to do next."

"Cora, please—" despite his better judgment, he reached out and grasped her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I…I'm classic fool—"

"Yes, but you made a fool of me too!" she accused, her shoulders shaking as emotion began to overtake her again. She quickly moved out of his touch and wiped her cheeks again. Robert wanted to say more, but just then Edith and Sybil reappeared.

"We couldn't find her; no doubt she and Cousin Matthew are already on their way back to Number 10 Downing," Sybil explained as she hobbled towards them.

"Oh Mama, you were wonderful this evening!" Edith grinned, coming up to her mother and giving her a big hug. Cora smiled and enfolded her daughter tightly, but tried not to be as obvious in her distress as she had been with Mary earlier. "And your students were darling too! Of course…you'll have to explain to me why there were so many lobsters present at the birth of Jesus."

Cora laughed, despite the pain she felt in her heart and put her arms around both her daughters. "Come, no doubt Anthony is waiting for us; oh, your father isn't feeling very well and is going to spend the night here and travel up to Downton tomorrow."

"Oh?" both Sybil and Edith opened their mouths to question further, but Cora was already leading them away, and Robert stood there, watching his wife walk away and not bothering to look back…leaving him all alone while the world shattered around him.

But really, what could he do? He had no one to blame, but himself.

* * *

Charles had stepped away from the table where all the numerous baked goods lay, wanting to give William some privacy as he finally was able to join them after the many messages of gratitude had been given for his amazing, last minute performance.

He wandered the length of the auditorium, hoping that would give William enough time. His own mind wandered to Christmas Day, and the wonderful yet frightening realization that he would soon be seeing Mrs. Hughes again. He felt like many of children who were running around the room just now, only they were excited about opening presents, whereas he was excited about the possibility of sitting next to this extraordinary woman.

He turned and glanced over to where he had left William and Daisy…and frowned upon seeing the lad standing there with his shoulders slightly slumped. And where had Daisy gone? He quickly walked over, his brow furrowed in confusion, but wanting to remain positive. "Well?" he said as he approached.

William turned and looked at him, and Charles felt his heart fall at the sight of the sadness in the young man's eyes. _Oh no._ "She…doesn't return your affections?"

William shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that surprised Charles, but the lad also looked very doubtful. "Don't know; we didn't really get to talk," he sighed. "She told me she thought I was amazing on the piano, to which I thanked her…and then some school staff person came up and thanked her over and over for bringing all the treats and said she didn't have to stay to clean-up, that someone would do that for her…and then she left."

"The school staff person left?"

William shook his head. "_Daisy_ left," he whispered. "Her mobile rung; her cab had arrived to take her to Heathrow."

Charles looked up at the busy hallway just outside the auditorium, where bodies were filing out, while wishing one another holiday greetings. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"Just a few seconds ago, actually—"

"Tell her you love her!"

William's gasped as Charles grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at him. "I'm serious, William, tell her that you love her!"

William looked at his friend with wide, surprised eyes. He had never seen Mr. Carson look so fierce and intense.

"You asked me about my love life? The truth is, I don't have one, William; I never took the chance to open my heart to love, I never tried! I can lie to myself over and over and say it was because I was focused on my career, but the truth is I was afraid; afraid of taking the risk and opening my heart," Charles paused and took a moment to catch his breath. His eyes never left William's. "Now…now, I…I think I'm ready to take that risk…but I know I wouldn't even be considering it if it weren't for _you_."

William's eyes widened at this confession and Charles shook the lad's shoulders for extra emphasis.

"You've inspired me, William; your optimism, your perseverance—don't give up now! You've seen how the Doctor always manages to save the day—it's not over till it's over!"

The footman looked up at the concierge, a light shining in the younger man's eyes…and smile slowly began to spread across his face. "Alright, Mr. Carson…" he said with a determined look. "Let's do it, then; let's get the shit kicked out of us by Love!"

Charles' face reddened slightly at William's cursing, but grinned none the less, clapping the footman on the shoulder and the two of them quickly turning towards the doors, apologizing as they muscled their way through the crowd until they were finally outside.

"Oh no…" William moaned, pointing towards a cab that was pulling away from the corner. Despite the darkness of the night sky, he could make out the profile of the pretty sous-chef in the backseat. "There she goes!"

"Don't worry!" Charles reassured. "I know a shortcut to the airport—come on!"

By hook or by crook, Charles Carson was determined that William would get his happy ending.

* * *

Sybil was sitting in the backseat of Anthony and Edith's car as they drove to the train station. Her forehead was leaning against the glass window, staring up at the snow that fell to the earth. She looked at the street lights overhead as the snow reflected and danced around them as they fell. She also looked at the different people walking around outside, some with bags filled with packages under their arms, others with suitcases as if they themselves were preparing on going on a long journey, and others greeting friends and loved ones on the street. As they were stopped at a traffic light, she noticed an old couple, bundled up and walking arm in arm, the woman leaning her head against the man's shoulder, both of them laughing at something one of the others said. Another couple passed them going the opposite way, these two much younger; they were walking hand in hand and paused just under the street lamp. The guy turned to face the girl, his hands moving up to touch her cheeks…and then without warning, he got down on one knee and the girl gasped as he pulled a small box out of his coat pocket and presented it to her.

_"I just want you for my own…more than you could ever know…"_

"Darling? Did you say something?"

Sybil blushed, not realizing she had quietly sung to herself the words of the closing song from her mother's concert.

"Nothing, Mama," she whispered, turning her attention back to the street as the car rolled through the intersection, continuing on its journey.

"I hope Papa feels better!" Edith commented from her seat in the front. "It's a shame he won't be able to travel with us tonight."

"He'll be fine," their mother murmured.

Sybil closed her eyes and concentrated on the song once again. As the lyrics sang in her head, she thought of the man to whom they were about, a man who had changed her world in the brief time she had known him.

_"__I may be late to the party, but…I would like to be considered one your fans…"_

He thought her an amazing writer. He had inspired her and encouraged her to follow her heart when it came to writing the story she wanted to tell, and not let other dictate to her what she should do.

_"But…at the end of the day, no one can force you to write your story in a way that you don't want to. And if they don't like it? Then to hell with them. It will be their loss if they let you go over something like that. I bet there are at least a dozen other publishing companies that would kill to have their name on your books, and who would probably appreciate you more…"_

He made her feel worthy of who she was. He gave her the courage to do what she felt was right, and the confidence she needed to believe in herself. And not just in writing…but in so many other things as well. Before she met Tom Branson, she was in danger of becoming a cynic, a stereotype of the "wronged woman", forever bitter and untrusting, who scoffed at the idea of "love" and "romance".

But now…now she found herself believing in it more and more. Perhaps more than when she was with Larry? No…no, definitely more than when she was with Larry.

_"No matter what size you are, you're a beautiful woman and he should be falling on his knees, thanking God every day and night for being lucky enough to be the man in your life!"_

She couldn't help but smile at the memory of how passionately he had defended her. And when she had tried to blame herself for her own stupidity for getting letting herself get involved with Larry in the first place, even then—Tom defended her.

_"Don't do that. It's not your fault that he's an ungrateful prick. Please don't blame yourself..."_

He hadn't said the words…but…she would be a fool to deny what her heart was screaming at her. _You know this to be true…you know he has feelings for you, he practically told you that he loves you!_

_"I'd like to be more…if you'd let me..."_

Yes…yes, that was what she wanted to. He understood that she had been hurt, that her heart would find it difficult to trust another after the lies Larry had told her. But…he was also asking her to take a leap of faith…to trust him, to let him prove to her that his feelings and his emotions were genuine.

"_I know you've been hurt, and I know in many ways I'm still just a stranger…but…but bet on me…and I promise…"_

She had kissed him then to stop him speaking, because she was afraid. But now…back home, back around things that were familiar…she found that she was more afraid of losing him, of living a life…where he wasn't there.

_Bet on me…_

Those words continued to ring through her head every time she closed her eyes. Every time she thought about Ireland, about Tom, about…about the life she wanted to live.

_Bet on me…_

She wanted that fresh start…she had been looking for that, well before she came back to London, perhaps before she even left for Ireland? She was trying to make sense of things, and…and unbeknownst to her at the time, she had found her answer not in her writing, not in an Irish country cottage or a London bungalow but…with another person.

With Tom Branson.

_Bet on me…_

"STOP THE CAR!"

Anthony gasped, startled by Sybil's shout, and his foot hit the break and the car did indeed come to a screeching halt. Edith turned around, her face looking startled by Sybil's shout, as did their mother, who turned and gripped Sybil's arm. "Darling!" her mother gasped. "Are you alright? What is it? What's wrong?"

Sybil's mouth fell open and she looked at her mother…but no words were coming out. Her eyes then flew to her brother-in-law, who was twisting his neck around to see what the problem was, and then she turned to her sister…whose gaze seemed to hold some understanding.

"I have to go."

"WHAT?" her mother gasped.

"Go?" Anthony asked, looking confused. "Go where?"

"I'm sorry!" Sybil apologized, grabbing her crutches and opening the car door.

"Sorry for what? Sybil, I don't understand—WATCH OUT FOR THAT TRAFFIC!" her mother shouted as she stepped out of the car and carefully pressed herself against its side while another car came honking past.

"Anthony, can you open the boot so I can get my suitcase?"

"NO! NO DO NOT OPEN THE TRUNK!" her mother shouted, her Americanisms coming back in full swing. "Sybil, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she got out on her of the car and came around to the back where Sybil was impatiently waiting for the boot to pop open so she could get her suitcase.

"I'm sorry, Mama, but…there's somewhere I need to be."

Cora gaped at her daughter. "Somewhere you need to be? YES! Yes, there is, and it's Victoria Station where we are boarding a train to Downton!"

"I'm not going to Downton, Mama!"

"WHAT?" Cora couldn't believe her ears. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE _NOT GOING_ TO DOWNTON?"

"She means exactly what she's saying, Mama," Edith explained, now coming around to the back of the car and without waiting for her mother to say another word, opened the boot and helped Sybil fetch her suitcase. "Sybil has a plane to catch, isn't that right?"

_"A PLANE TO CATCH?"_ Cora sputtered. "A PLANE TO _WHERE?"_

"Dublin, I believe," Edith sighed. "Am I wrong?" she asked, looking at Sybil with some amusement. Poor Anthony looked helpless from where he sat, not really sure what to do, as several cars honked at him while they drove around.

"Dublin?" Cora whispered, trying to remain calm when truly, all she wanted to do was scream her irritations to the world. "You _just came back_ from Dublin!" Cora groaned, turning her attentions back to her youngest. "Why on earth do you need to return there? And for what reasons? NO! Sybil, stop right now!" she ordered, grabbing hold of Sybil's hand as she tried to pick up her suitcase. "Sybil…I have had a very long night, and unless you can give me ONE good reason why, _on Christmas Eve_, you are leaving for Dublin…then so help me I will…I will take away your crutches and throw you over my shoulder and _carry you_ all the way to Downton, if I must!"

Sybil stared at her mother in surprise by the anger that was radiating from her voice. She glanced at her sister and Edith gave a small shrug of her shoulders before nodding her head in encouragement. Lord, who knows what she'll say to this…

"There's someone I have to see…" she began. But before she could say more, her mother cut her off.

"_SOMEONE you have_ to see?" she growled. "And _who is_ this someone? I demand an answer Sybil, no more games, no more—"

"His name is Tom!" Sybil blurted, with her own frustrated groan. "His name is Tom Branson, he's the nephew of the woman whose cottage I rent when I visit, and I'm in love with him!"

Edith's eyes widened at this revelation, and even Anthony, who was straining to hear what they were talking amongst the honking horns, looked shocked by the news. As for Cora, she blinked at her daughter, looking…confused, it seemed…as Sybil's words sank in.

Sybil let out a long, shaky breath. She actually felt a wave of relief wash over her for finally being able to speak the truth, not just to others, but to herself, too. "I love him," she repeated again. "He's a wonderful man and I shouldn't have left him, at least not without telling him how I felt. But I did…and now I need to go back and make things right."

Cora was still blinking in amazement. Finally, she found her voice. "You're…you're in love?"

"Yes Mama!" Sybil laughed, throwing her arms up in the air. "I am in love! True, genuine love, not the sort of wretched thing I thought was love with Larry, but…_real_ love! And…and I think…no, I…_I know_," she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment and smiling as her heart sang with joy. "…He loves me too."

Edith began to sniffle and wiped her eyes. She turned and caught Anthony's gaze and smiled back at him. As for Cora, she continued staring at her youngest daughter in shock. First Mary, and now Sybil…

"Don't you understand, Mama?" Sybil whispered, hobbling forward and taking her mother's hand in hers. "Can you not see why I must go? I love you and Papa and Edith and Mary—and yes, even you Sir Anthony!" she giggled as she met her brother-in-law's gaze. "And both my grandmothers," she added, remembering how they would be up at Downton too. "But…I need to be with Tom tonight." She squeezed her mother's hand. "Do you understand?"

Sybil held her breath as she waited for her mother to give her an answer. Cora was crying now, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She stared into her daughter's beautiful blue eyes, the same color as Robert's. She reached up and with a trembling hand, brushed a stray brown curl away from her brow. "My baby…" she whispered as she cupped Sybil's face in her hands. Despite the awful truth she had learned this night, Cora felt her spirits lift as she gazed into her daughter's eyes, and saw the love to which she spoke. In so many ways, it reminded her of when both she and Robert were younger…and how they decided out of the blue, to elope on the day after Christmas. "Of course," she finally sighed. "Of course I understand. And you're right, you must go to him."

Sybil stared at her mother with wide, disbelieving eyes. She looked at Edith, who was also surprised by their mother's sudden encouragement, and then turned back and threw her arms around her mother, practically squealing, "thank you Mama! Oh thank you, thank you!"

Cora grinned and squeezed her daughter tightly, hugging her so close and doing the best she could to keep herself from sobbing. "Yes, well…thank me when you land safely in Dublin and find this Mr. Branson and tell him how you feel. That's when you can call me to thank me…and I mean that," she grasped Sybil's shoulders and tried to look stern. "You know I won't sleep a wink tonight if I don't hear from you—so after you find Mr. Branson, please…give your mother at least two minutes of your time? Then you can go back to kissing the daylights out of him."

Sybil blushed deeply at her mother's words, but she couldn't help but smile. Indeed, that was her plan! "I promise Mama," she whispered. "I promise to ring you as soon as I am able."

"Good," Cora murmured, cupping her daughter's face once again and looking at her with such tenderness. "Oh gracious, we must get you a cab—Edith?"

Edith nodded her head and waved her hands at the first cab that passed. It came to a halt and Edith took Sybil's suitcase and put it in the cabbie's boot, before helping Sybil get into the car. "Good luck!" she whispered in her sister's ear, before giving Sybil a quick kiss on the cheek.

Sybil grinned and squeezed Edith's hand before shutting the door. "Thank you," she whispered back. "And merry Christmas!"

Edith wrapped her arm around her mother's waist as they watched the cab speed away to the airport. "All of my babies have found love this Christmas," she sighed, leaning her head on her middle daughter's shoulder.

"I don't mean to be rude, and I'm very happy for Sybil, but…do you think we can go now?" Anthony asked. "It's only that our train leaves in less than thirty-minutes—"

"Coming darling," Edith laughed, opening the door for her mother and helping her inside. Cora continued to watch the direction the cab had gone as Anthony resumed driving. She smiled and closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of her seat. One daughter married, and the other two now finding love. If her daughters could all be happy this Christmas…then really, she didn't need a gold and ruby necklace.

* * *

"Well…that was certainly a memorable performance!" Isobel laughed as she and Richard walked down the street. "My son will certainly have some explaining to do tomorrow—if I see him, of course," she sighed.

"So you never knew?" Richard asked. "About…about him and the Prime Minister?"

Isobel shook her head. "Matthew doesn't tell me much about his love life, and I respect that. The truth is, he hasn't had any sort of serious relationship since he broke up with Lavinia five years ago—she's the mother of his godson," she explained. "I think…I think he's just been waiting to find the right girl…"

"And you think he found her in the Prime Minister?"

Isobel couldn't help but chuckle at the enormity of this entire revelation. "Well…he certainly wasn't kissing her like a man who wasn't in love," she said with a bit of a blush, especially as she caught Richard's gaze.

He smiled and looked down at her hand…and slowly moved to take it in his. "And…how do men who are in love kiss, exactly?"

Isobel, whose eyes had been fixed on their now entwined fingers, snapped her head up at his words. Her eyes widened and she blushed deeply, even deeper than before, at his question. _Oh goodness…what should I say? Is he going to kiss me? Does he want to kiss me? Should I let him? I'm not a young girl, after all, but…I can't deny, I have been wondering what it would be like to be kissed again…and to be kissed by Richard Clarkson…_

"You're granddaughter was wonderful tonight!" Isobel quickly stated, more so out of nervousness than for any other reason.

Richard smiled and tenderly squeezed her hand. "Yes…you've mentioned that three times this evening," he murmured with a chuckle. "But thank you…and when you see her tomorrow, please tell her yourself!"

"Oh yes, tomorrow!" Isobel gushed, once again, her nerves getting the better of her. "Yes, what time should we be there? I hope Matthew will still be coming, I did tell him and he planned on meeting me after he visits Michael and Lavinia in the morning—oh, I have been wondering, should I bring anything? Something to share at the table? And I do feel I should bring something for the children—do they like sweets? Oh silly question, they're children, I'm sure they do, but I—"

She stopped talking because not only had they reached her door…but Richard was standing directly in front of her, and holding her shoulders, causing her to stop and stare and look up at him. "Dearest Isobel…" he murmured, his own cheeks flushing, but a warm smile spreading across his face. "I think the song said it best…I don't care about the presents under the tree, I don't care about the meal or if it snows…even though it's snowing now," he grinned, looking up briefly at the sky overhead. Isobel lifted her eyes to the falling snow as well…but her breath caught in her throat and her giggle faded…as she felt Richard's hands gently and tenderly, cup her chin, drawing her attention back to him.

"All I want for Christmas…is _you_, Isobel Crawley."

"Oh…" she murmured, not sure what to say, but her heart leaping in her chest at his beautiful and tender declaration. However, it began to race like a speeding train car as Richard slowly moved closer…his head dipping a little…until his lips were only a breath away.

She closed the distance.

A happy sigh escaped both their mouths, as their lips met and moved against one another. It had been so long since she had kissed anyone…and Isobel discovered that actually…she hadn't forgotten. Richard's hands fell away from her chin…and Isobel moaned as she felt them move around her waist. Her hands were braced against his shoulders…and soon they too were moving, looping around the back of his neck. And just as one used to see in those old black and white romances, she lifted a leg up in the air.

The kiss carried on for a good, long moment. And Isobel actually whimpered as Richard's lips slowly lifted away from hers.

They were both breathing quite heavily, and she couldn't deny she was surprised with how…how passionate that had felt! (And at her age!) Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. He was grinning and bent his head to kiss one of her hands, which he was now holding again, running his fingers tenderly across the knuckles to keep them warm, as she had forgotten to bring her gloves for that evening.

"Thank you for tonight," he whispered. "For your company at dinner…and at the show."

She blushed and bashfully smiled. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"

He laughed and kissed her hand once more. "Will you come at noon tomorrow?" he asked. "Christmas lunch probably won't be ready till two o'clock…but I don't think I can wait that long," he confessed.

A heat flooded Isobel's face, and quickly spread throughout her body. Gracious, it truly had been a long time since she had felt this way! And yet…oh goodness, she had forgotten how wonderful it was to feel like this, to feel…so in love. Indeed, she realized; no matter how old a person was, Love always had a way of making you feel so young.

"I may be there by eleven," she confessed, to which he laughed but nodded his head in approval.

"Come as early as you'd like; you'll hear no complaint from me."

She blushed and thanked him for the evening, and feeling so bold, leaned up and kissed him again, this time pushing her nerves aside and savoring the sweetness of his lips, and giggling as his moustache tickled her nose. "Merry Christmas, Richard," she whispered as she lowered her face and turned (reluctantly) towards her door.

He smiled and bowed his head. "Merry Christmas, Isobel." He waited until she had unlocked the door and was inside. She watched from the peephole in her door as he turned and did a little dancing jig right there on the pavement, before grinning and lifting his face to the falling snow, and going back towards the tube station from which they had come.

She laughed and leaned her head against the coolness of the door, hoping it would help cool the heat on her skin.

She was a grown woman in her mid-sixties, and yet she felt like a giddy child, all over again. Apparently there was a Father Christmas, and he still gave presents, even to people like her. And he had given her a gift she never thought she would have the joy of experiencing again: _Love._

* * *

"Pardon me! Excuse me!" Charles shoved, trying to be as polite as possible while gently pushing people out of the way in his efforts to get William through. Heathrow was a madhouse! Never would he have imagined so many people traveling on Christmas Eve night! People leaving, people arriving, it was chaos!

"How are we going to find her?" William asked as they tried to make their way through the concourse.

Charles paused and looked at the flight board. "Only one flight leaving from London to Paris at the time you told me," Charles explained. "At gate B24…"

"That's at the other end of the terminal," William murmured in a worried tone. He looked at the flight board and groaned. "They're already loading…she could be onboard!"

Charles looked away from the flight board and caught the eye of a ticket taker. "This way," he muttered, tugging on William's sleeve. William followed, looking a little confused by he didn't ask questions. Mr. Carson had helped him this far, he had complete trust in the man.

"Excuse me!" Charles said to the ticket taker.

"Tickets?"

"No, you see, we're not actually flying—"

The ticket taker held up a hand to stop Charles from coming any closer. "You can't come through without a boarding pass, sir."

Charles closed his eyes and groaned. Damn airport security laws. "I understand that, I do, and I respect that, but you need to understand—"

"Sir, I must ask you to step away to let other passengers through."

"No, you need to understand that this young man," he gripped William's shoulder. "He needs to go through; there's a young woman getting on a plane to Paris, and he needs to see her—"

"Sir, I will not ask you again to step away—"

"Please, let the lad go through—to say goodbye to the woman he loves?"

"Sir, I will call security and have you arrested—"

"Mr. Carson," William urged tugging on the concierge's sleeve. Charles looked at William helplessly and then then back at the ticket taker, whose expression held no sympathy or amusement.

"It's alright, Mr. Carson," William reassured, putting on a brave smile for his friend. It was obvious that Mr. Carson was upset, and the last thing William wanted the other man to feel was that he had failed.

"No, it's _not_ alright," Charles muttered, glaring at the ticket taker as William led him away.

"It's my own fault, Mr. Carson," William mumbled. "I was a coward and didn't take the chance when I had it; I must be the one to live with the consequences."

Charles frowned at this and watched as a grand-looking older woman in black mink coat practically floated in front of them, pausing at the ticket taker's podium. "Boarding pass, madam?"

"Yes," the woman sighed, her American accent quite clear as she pulled off her gloves and unpinned her hat, shaking out her obviously dyed red hair out. "Lord, the amount of times they have you go through security at these places!" she groaned, practically thrusting her rolling suitcase at the ticket taker. "Hold that for me, will you dearie?"

"Um, madam—"

"You know, I have been traveling all day? Or it seems like all day, my head's screwed up from all the time changes," she sighed. "I left Cincinnati—that's in Ohio, if you've never heard of it—which is in the States, if you've never heard of it—anyway, I left Cincinnati at eleven this morning, which was actually six here—and flew to New York, where I waited at JFK for two and a half hours, before getting on another plane and flying this time to Toronto—and I have to say, friendliest people, those Canadians; the stereotypes are true—anyway, I have to go through customs while in Toronto, and my flight is CANCELED—can you believe it? CANCELED, so I end up waiting on standby for another few hours, and I should have been arriving here, in London, at four in the afternoon, but instead, I get here now, at…what is it? Nearly eleven o'clock at night? Which back home is nearly six in the morning? So in a way, I've been awake, or so it seems, for practically twenty-four hours! And I STILL haven't reached my final destination! I have to catch a plane from London to YORK! And who knows how tiny that thing will be? I hope I don't end up banging my knees on the back of my chair in front of me; worse than that one time I flew from Cincinnati to Cleveland, but trust me, you don't want to hear that story—and Cleveland is also in Ohio, in case you didn't know—but it doesn't end there!"

The ticket taker looked so confused, and the entire time she had been rattling on and on, she kept removing something from her person, whether it was a piece of luggage, her purse, or even her coat, as she hunted for her tickets.

Charles suddenly had an idea.

"William," he muttered, watching the woman closely. "Do you want to make a run for it?"

William gaped at the other man. Mr. Carson was always so…"by the book", it was impossible to imagine him suggesting that he break the law.

And yet…he couldn't help but smile. "You think I should?"

Charles winked at him and William glanced at the ticket taker as he tried to hold his patience while the American woman continued to prattle.

"You know they're going to arrest us for this," William warned him. Even if he made it all the way to Daisy's gate, there was little chance he wouldn't go undetected. "We may end up spending Christmas in a jail cell."

Charles thought about that for a brief moment. The thought of missing Mrs. Hughes' company did cause his heart to sink…but he quickly pushed that thought of out his head, instead choosing to focus on William. He would worry about his own heart woes later. "Well, can't say that it won't make for an interesting story," Charles sighed.

"—I'm sorry, madam, but…do you or do you not have your boarding pass?" the ticket taker asked, trying to sound polite despite the tick one could see in his jaw.

"Oh hold your horses," the American grumbled. "Anyway, as I was saying, my journey doesn't stop in York. No, I still have to travel an hour to reach my destination! And you would think, in a country like this where public transportation and the trains are so highly praised around the world, that they would have built a line to connect between York and Downton, but no! No, even now, in the 21st century, there is STILL no direct train line from Downton to York! Which means I'm going to have to get a cab—on Christmas Eve! A cab to drive me all the way from York to Downton, and who knows how much that is going to cost me," she groaned and rolled her eyes. "This is the last time I let my son-in-law's mother 'help' me with my travel plans."

While the woman continued telling her story, and while she continued to pile more and more things on the poor ticket taker, William took his chance, and slipped past the man, ducking low so as not to be noticed.

It worked. Charles had been watching tensely as William slipped through and then grinned as the lad disappeared around a corner. "Yes…" he sighed with relief.

"Well, I can't seem to find the damn thing!" the woman groaned, grabbing her things from the ticket taker in one giant sweeping motion of her arms. "Maybe I left it back in that café where I was having some coffee?" she sighed and turned to head back from where she had come…but as she turned she caught Charles' eye…and winked at him.

Charles was taken aback by the gesture and not sure what to make of it. There was knowing smirk on the American woman's face…as if she had been in on his and William's scheme…and without another glance, she turned on her heel and left him standing there with a look of bewilderment.

* * *

Slipping passed the ticket taker was easy. It would be getting passed the security guards at the metal detector checkpoint that would be difficult.

No, not difficult…impossible.

There was no way he could do this without being detected. It wasn't a question of how he was going to get to Daisy…but how fast he could outrun those security guards, before they dragged him away? Could he make it to Daisy's gate in time, before her flight took off, before she perhaps boarded the plane (if she hadn't done so already), and simply tell her what he should have told her in the beginning? That he loved her?

He took a deep breath and looked ahead. _This is it_, he thought to himself. _You're about to embark on a journey, just like the Doctor. You're about to do something insane and stupid and all in the name of Love._ He couldn't help but smile at that.

A security guard was checking a passenger, and was bending down to move the metal detecting rod to the passenger's legs and feet…and that was when William took his chance.

He sprinted.

And before the security guard rose back up to his full height, William leapt through the metal detector and over the guard's head like an Olympic hurdler, ignoring the gasps, shouts, and sirens that were ringing loudly behind him, and ran. He ran as fast as he could go, down the corridor, through the busy terminal's shopping area, shoving his way through the crowds, apologizing every so often, but kept running all while the guards shouted in the background, "STOP THAT MAN!"

The blood was pumping in his veins; the adrenaline was coursing through his body. Despite the definite likelihood that he was going to be arrested and possibly spending the rest of his life in jail, he couldn't help but smile as he ran. He ran through various corridors, passing different gates, some filled with people awaiting their flights, others that were empty, and others where passengers were arriving. Every so often he would pass through a crowd of people, coming off a plane, on their way to customs, and pulling their small suitcases behind them. He didn't avoid going through such groups of people, he purposefully ran through them, as they would slow down the officers that were chasing him.

_B19, B20, B21, B22…_

He was getting closer and closer.

He rounded a corner, and realized that the gate he was searching for was on a lower level from where he was standing. He looked through the glass and down below at the emptying seating area of the gate, and to his amazed delight saw her standing there…getting ready to go through, digging her ticket and passport out from her purse.

"DAISY!" he shouted, his hands pressed against the glass as he looked over the seating area. She couldn't hear him; the glass was sound proof. He raced forward, jumping down several stairs as he went, stopping short of bursting through the doors that led to her gate, when he noticed a large security guard and two flight attendants standing nearby, blocking his way. How would he make it passed them? The guard would surely grab him before he—

_"I feel it in my fingers…I feel it in my toes!"_

William looked up at the television monitors that were playing overhead.

_"Christmas is all around me…and so the feeling grows!"_

Just as he had promised, Thomas Barrow was on some stage, live, performing his latest #1, and while singing…began to strip.

_"It's written in the wind…it's everywhere I go!"_

The security guard and flight attendants were now entirely focused on the monitors and laughing as they watched Thomas shake his butt and flirt with the camera as he began to tease the viewers by unzipping his leather trousers.

_"So if you really love Christmas…come on and let it snow!"_

As Thomas ripped the pants from his body, and as the flight attendants and security guard roared with laughter at the sight, William made his move, running past the small trio, to the gate where Daisy was about to walk through. "Daisy!"

She froze, and quickly turned to look at him, her face lit with surprise…but a smile spreading across her lips. "William?"

He couldn't help but smile at the way she said his name. He didn't even think she knew that he existed!

"What…how…?"

"I don't have a lot of time," he explained, knowing that the guards would be there any second. "I…I just wanted you to know, before you leave—"

"Why did you make all those treats?" she asked, moving closer to him. "I know that was you, Mr. Carson didn't tell me, but once I learned it wasn't Mrs. Patmore, what other explanation can there be?" she looked into his eyes, her own searching his and her smile growing by the second. "Why didn't you tell me you were doing that?"

He looked back at her and felt his heart soar. "Don't you know?" he asked, moving closer. "Daisy, I lo_UMPH_!

He was suddenly tackled from behind, and Daisy gasped as two, then three security guards wrestled him to the ground, before pulling his hands behind his back and cuffing them right away.

"Ma'am, you need to stand back and get on your plane," one of the guards warned her as she tried to get closer.

"William?" she asked, looking frantic as the guards hoisted him to his feet.

"Don't worry about me!" he shouted, struggling against their grip as they tried to pull him away. "I'll be fine! And I know you'll do well in Paris! I'll be thinking of you every day!"

"SHUT UP!" one of the guards shouted, threatening to punch him in the stomach.

"William, please tell me what you were going to say!" Daisy begged, ignoring what the officer had told her and trying to get closer.

"Ma'am, I said stay back!"

_"I love you Daisy!"_ William finally shouted, and even the security guards seemed surprised by this declaration, and looked at him in confusion.

Daisy gasped and stared at him, her hands moving over her mouth and eyes growing misty.

His confidence renewed, he continued his declaration. "I love you, Daisy, I've loved you ever since you stepped foot into that kitchen. I should have told you then, and I'm sorry I waited till now, but I couldn't let you go without telling you. And it's ok; you don't have to give me an answer, I just wanted you to know—and now you do."

"Oh William…"

"COME ON!" muttered one of the guards, and pushed William away. But he was fine with it; she knew. That was all that mattered. He had revealed his feelings to her and she was aware. They continued dragging him away, and he let them, not minding one bit, in fact he was grinning like a proud idiot the entire way.

They took him back up to the metal detector, where they were about to proceed to take him into a back room for questioning, when a mighty shout was roared from just up ahead. "IF YOU'RE GOING TO ARREST HIM THEN YOU'LL HAVE TO ARREST ME TOO!"

William gaped at Mr. Carson as he pushed his way through the security guards who were standing in front of the metal detector, trying to get to him. The guards that were surrounding William looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and then proceeded to tackle Mr. Carson, causing William to wince as they pushed the older man to his knees, before grabbing his wrists and forcing them behind his back to cuff him, too.

He looked at Mr. Carson with a look of confusion, but the concierge merely smiled, despite the way the guards were pushing him around. They were in this together, just like the Doctor and his companion.

"Wait!"

William gasped; his heart stopping as he turned his head at the small voice he knew so well and dreamt about so often. She was rushing up to him, her ticket and passport clutched tightly as she made her way. "Daisy," he breathed. "Daisy, you'll miss your flight, you can't miss—MMMMMM!"

He was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his.

The guards stared in shock and disbelief at everything they had seen this night, before finally coming to their senses and pulling Daisy away from him. "I'll be back in a month!" Daisy shouted, smiling at him and blowing him a kiss as she quickly ran back to her gate.

William simply stood there, looking dazed but happy, his lips swollen from the sudden kiss. It was better than anything he could have dreamed.

He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Carson, and couldn't help but grin happily. As the guards began to drag the two of them away, Charles was grinning back at him, happy for his friend and so proud. Like a father for his son.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_NEXT: Sybil goes to Ireland! And we haven't seen the last of Thomas..._


	19. Christmas Eve (part IV)

_Only 2 more chapters left after this one! And don't worry...I promise HAPPY ENDINGS FOR EVERYONE! So just hang in there if you're worrying, and we haven't seen the last of *any* of the 'ships. But this chapter features some funny Thomas/O'Brien moments, as well as the moment my fellow Sybil/Tom shippers have been waiting for. Hopefully this will make you feel warm and gooy inside, as well as bring a laugh and smile to your face. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_Chapter Nineteen _

**Christmas Eve (part IV)**

She shouldn't have brought her suitcase. It was slowing her down. Sybil groaned as she dragged the silly thing behind her; it was nearly impossible to walk with a suitcase and with crutches at the same time.

"TAXI!" she screamed as soon as she was able to exit the airport. Lord, how must she look? Some mad woman, waving crutches in the air. But it did the trick, apparently. A cab pulled right up in front of her, and the driver leapt out, coming around to take her suitcase.

"Are you alright, lass?" he asked, popping the luggage into the cab's boot.

"Yes, I'm fine!" she muttered, busily climbing into the backseat. "Just please, I need to get somewhere and very, very fast!"

"Alright, alright," the cabbie grumbled, getting back behind the wheel. "Where to?"

Sybil opened her mouth to say…and then gasped as she realized…she didn't know the address!

"I…I'm not sure," she whispered to herself.

The driver frowned and craned his neck to look at her. "What you mean you're 'not sure'? You were just insisting—"

"Look, I'll give you a hundred quid if you follow my directions…I…I think I know what roads to turn down, just…GO, PLEASE!"

The driver didn't ask any further questions, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator and the cab jerked to life. Of course, it was late at night now…and the streets looked so different than how they had seemed earlier when Tom had driven her around Dublin. Still, she kept her eyes peeled for the various landmarks he had shown her, especially the ones that had some personal connection to him. "Turn there!" she told the driver, and he obeyed. "And there! NO! THERE!" she corrected, and he turned again, muttering a curse under his breath. "Turn right here!" she advised again, recognizing the pub that Tom had told her was his favorite in the whole city. "Left there!"

"We're going in circles—"

"No, this is the way, I'm sure of it!" Sybil refused to let her doubts get the better of her. Not now, not when she was so close! "Go down that street—yes that one!" she insisted, and the driver did as she said, although still muttering something about _"mad English women"_ under his breath.

"Almost there," she whispered to herself. Yes, she recognized that street corner, the one where Tom got into a fist fight at the age of twelve, defending another child who was being bullied. "THERE!" she all but screamed into the cabbie's ear. "STOP THE CAR! RIGHT HERE!"

"JESUS!" the driver cursed, his foot slamming on the break. The car had barely come to a complete stop before Sybil was pushing the door open and stumbling out of the cab. "WAIT!" he bellowed at her; she hadn't paid him, nor has she collected her suitcase.

Sybil was stumbling and hobbling up the steps of the Dublin brownstone that Tom had told her was his mother's, the house where he and his siblings had grown up; the place where the Branson family gathered every Christmas.

"Be calm, be calm," she repeated over and over as she quickly smoothed down her hair, checked to make sure her sweater wasn't wrinkled, and with a deep breath…knocked on the door.

She held her breath…

She could hear footsteps!

_Oh God…what should I do if he answers? I know what I want to do, but I shouldn't just throw myself on top of him and start snogging the breath from his lungs. No, no, I need to tell him how I feel, why I'm here, that I—_

The door opened and Sybil nearly stumbled forward, but managed to catch her balance…and looked up…into the eyes of an older woman.

She was shorter than Sybil, that she could tell as Sybil straightened herself up once again. She was also round with chubby cheeks, graying hair, and pursed lips. She was frowning, and Sybil realized she had just interrupted something, hence the irritated expression. The woman was wearing a blue apron, that obviously showed that she had just come from doing battle in the kitchen, based on the number of sauce and flour stains that decorated it. Her hands were also covered in the white dust, and she was busily wiping them with a cloth. She lifted an eyebrow at Sybil, waiting for some explanation as to why she was here, on her doorstep, so late at night. "…Can I help you?" she finally muttered.

_Wonderful way to meet his mother,_ Sybil thought, wanting to kick herself so badly. "Mrs. Branson?" she asked in a tentative voice.

The woman nodded her head, but still looked unsure. "And you are?"

Sybil swallowed and tried to reign in her blush, as well as her nervousness. "Mrs. Branson, my name is Sybil…Sybil Crawley…" the woman showed no signs of understanding or acknowledgement upon this explanation. Apparently Tom hadn't told his mother about the woman he had been driving around at his aunt's cottage. "I…I do beg your pardon for troubling you this evening—"

"Are you trying to sell something?"

"What? Oh! Oh no, no, forgive me...I…well, you see I…this will sound strange but…I…" she closed her eyes, knowing that she was coming across as a blubbering idiot. "I'm sorry, but…is your son here?"

Mrs. Branson lifted both eyebrows at this question. "Why?" she eyed Sybil up and down, and seemed to take notice for the first time that she was using crutches to walk. "Oh no…" she groaned. "Did he do something? Did he run over your foot?" she turned and muttered something in Irish under her breath; unfortunately Sybil didn't understand. "I'll smack him till next Christmas if he—"

"No! No! Mrs. Branson, you misunderstand, I…he didn't do this, no, this happened to me back in London," she quickly explained, although she wondered what on earth that was all about. "Mrs. Branson, I'm so sorry to come knocking like this on Christmas Eve, but…there's no other way for me to say this, but…I'm in love with your son."

She bit her lip, wondering how the older woman would take this news. So far, she seemed very annoyed and wary upon Sybil's arrival, and she wondered if that would continue now that she had just dropped this bombshell of an announcement at the woman's feet.

However…Mrs. Branson's face seemed to light up at this information and her scowl seemed to all but disappear. "Oh?" she asked, leaning closer.

Sybil was a little surprised by the change in the woman's character, but quickly nodded her head. "Yes, yes, we met a few weeks ago; I've been coming to Ireland for the past three years, but this was the first time he and I ever met, and…and I'm in love with him and…and I know this is all strange and mad—"

"Oh no! No my dear, come in! Oh, get some weight off that foot!" Mrs. Branson wrapped her arm around Sybil's shoulder and brought her to a nearby chair. "Please! Sit down, and I'll get you something hot to drink! You must be frozen!"

Sybil couldn't help but blush at the woman's sudden warm hospitality, but smiled nonetheless, settling nicely into the cushioned arm chair Mrs. Branson had directed her to. "That's very kind, but…forgive me, I wish to see him—is he here?"

"Oh, of course! I'll go and fetch him right away!" the woman grinned and then turned and waddled away as fast as her legs could carry her, back into a room where wonderful, fragrant smells were wafting through the air. Sybil smiled and looked around the warmth of the brownstone. It was wonderfully cluttered, with books and knick-knacks on every shelf, a child's toys on the floor (Tom must have a niece of nephew), and a Christmas tree shining brightly in a corner near an old fireplace where several stockings were already hanging. She saw one that said "Tommy" on it, and she couldn't help but grin. Would she have a stocking hanging by the fireplace next to his next Christmas? Oh Lord, she hoped so!

"Here he is!" Mrs. Branson's voice rang out as she reentered the room. Sybil's breath caught in her throat and with trembling legs she rose to her feet, grasping at her crutches…

…And stared back at a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes.

"Buuuurp!"

"KIERAN!" Mrs. Branson hissed, reaching up and swatting the back of the man's head. "MANNERS!"

"Ow!" the man cried out, rubbing the back of his head and pouting at the older woman, a face that a man his age was far too old to be making. He then turned and looked back at Sybil and frowned even further. "Who's she?"

Mrs. Branson's eyes widened, and looked at Sybil before looking back at him. He wasn't very tall, this man…perhaps a few inches shorter than Tom, it was hard to say. He had a moustache that honestly looked like it needed a great deal of cleaning. His hair was also fair like Tom's, but whereas Tom had a little brown, this man—Kieran, was it?—had more ginger. He also had a bit of a belly that was hanging out over the waistband of his trousers in a rather unflattering way. And he was holding what looked like some sort of lager bottle in his hand.

"She's the woman who's in love with you, of course!" Mrs. Branson hissed into the man's ear.

Sybil's eyes flew wide and she quickly began to shake her head. "Um, I'm sorry, there seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding—"

"I've never seen this girl in my life!" Kieran grunted, looking at her with a questioning glare.

"I beg your pardon, but you see, I meant your other—"

Again she was ignored. "Are you that desperate to get rid of me, Mam, that you'll go so far as to throw some English bird at me?"

_"Throw_ at you?" Mrs. Branson rolled her eyes. "Please—I'll PAY _any_ woman to scrub you up, get you sober, and take you to church once and a while!"

"EXCUSE ME!" Sybil hated that she had to raise her voice, but really, this was getting ridiculous. "I beg your pardon Mrs. Branson, but…I actually meant your other son? Tom?" She looked at Kieran and gave him a small, and somewhat sheepish smile. "No offense," she muttered.

He took a swig from his bottle and began to eye her up and down. A drunken, lazy smile began to spread across his face. "None taken…" he slurred, slightly.

Mrs. Branson groaned and muttered something in Irish at her son, before turning back to Sybil. "Tommy is the man you're in love with?" Sybil nodded her head, hoping that the woman would still be pleased by this news. Mrs. Branson glanced at Kieran and shook her head slightly. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised," she muttered under her breath. "He's at church right now, with his younger siblings and cousins—Midnight Mass," she explained. "Come, I'll take you there."

Sybil was more than ready, her crutches prepared to follow Tom's mother to the ends of the earth, if it meant finding him.

"Kieran, stay here," she grumbled, as she put her on her coat.

Kieran shook his head and finished the last few drops of his bottle. "As if I would miss this!" he burped, before following both Sybil and Mrs. Branson out the door.

Sybil gasped as she realized that the cabbie was still standing there at the curb, looking extremely irritated and holding her suitcase in his hands. "The meter is STILL running," he snarled.

"Oh never mind that now, Seamus!" Mrs. Branson muttered, clearly recognizing the driver and waving a dismissive hand in his face. "I need to get this girl to Tommy! She's in love with him," she explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sybil was burning brightly.

The driver's eyes widened a bit and he looked beyond Sybil to Kieran, who nodded his head in confirmation. Sybil suddenly realized that the driver (Seamus) was now following them…and as they walked, they passed a few others here and there, coming home from church and wishing them "Merry Christmas!" before learning what the strange, little parade was…and deciding to join them to find out how Tom would respond to Sybil's sudden appearance and message of love.

_So much for an intimate reunion_, she realized. It was as if she had just wandered onto some reality television show, where she was a contestant, preparing to declare her heart to a massive audience. Would there be cheers and applause? Or barks of laughter at her humiliation? She hoped for the first.

* * *

She was sitting on her couch, flipping through the telly stations and drinking directly from a bottle of red, the coffee table littered with various Cadbury wrappers, when she heard a persistent buzzing at her flat's door. Sarah groaned and forced herself up onto her feet to go and see who was it could be, this late on Christmas Eve night. She had an inkling…

However, it turned out it was NOT the police (as she had assumed, coming to tell her that Thomas had been arrested for indecent exposure or drunk and disorderly conduct)…but rather…Thomas himself! And amazingly, looking quite sober.

"I thought you would have gone back to Kylie's after your performance?" she said to him as he walked into her flat, running his hands through his hair. He looked…troubled. _Oh God, what now? _

"Yeah, well…" he was looking all over the flat, as if trying to find something or focus his eyes on something that was her face. "I just…I wanted to stop by here," he mumbled under his breath.

Sarah's frown only deepened. "The only time you stop here is because you need something; so what is it? What did you do this time?"

Thomas looked hurt by her accusation. "You cut to the quick, don't you Miss O'Brien?' he muttered.

She shrugged her shoulders, and went back to her couch where she proceeded to sit down and resume drinking from her bottle. "So, tell me? What do you need?"

Thomas gave her a look, but it didn't linger, because once again his eyes were wandering around the flat. They finally stopped and settled on the telly. "So…did you see my performance?"

Sarah turned her eyes to the telly and nodded her head, before focusing on him again. "You did well…for a fool who insisted on performing naked live on national television," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "I've been sitting by my phone, just waiting for complaints; thankfully, none have come so far…but there's always Boxing Day," she grumbled.

Thomas nodded his head, and looked like he was thinking of sitting down…but then began to pace the room once again, his hands looking quite…fidgety.

"What on earth is your problem?" Sarah asked, getting frustrated by his strange behavior. Why was he here? What was this all about? Hadn't he been saying in all the weeks leading up to tonight, including earlier this evening, that the last thing he wanted to do was spend his Christmas holiday with her, like…what was the phrase he had used? Ah yes, "a total loser"?

Thomas sighed and finally looked at her. "I…I've been thinking—"

"Never a good sign," Sarah muttered.

Thomas ignored her and continued. "I've been thinking about…Christmas," he explained.

She lifted a brow at this. "And you discovered that it was 'all around'?" she joked.

He didn't look amused. "No, listen, I'm trying to say something…'meaningful' and 'profound'…which is new for me," he muttered, looking a little embarrassed. Sarah thought about teasing him further, but chose against it by the way he looked. He wasn't joking, he was being quite genuine!

"Alright," she sighed. "Go on, I'm listening?"

He nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's just…well, Christmas—you know, people are always saying that Christmas is about being with the ones you love…so…I found myself thinking about that, and thinking about…how throughout this entire journey, promoting this shit song and this shit record, how you've always been with me, maybe wanting to hit me over the head with a shovel, but you have been with me, and…I just came to the realization, tonight, that…the one I love…is you."

Silence suddenly filled the flat.

Sarah stared at Thomas as if he had just told her that he was thousand year old time lord from the future and wanted her to be his companion.

"Christ almighty," she muttered. "How much have you been drinking?"

"No, it's not like that!" Thomas groaned, throwing his hands up in the air, before grabbing fistfuls of his hair in frustration, looking ready to rip it out. "No, I'm being serious! And for your information, I haven't had anything to drink since Kylie's party, and that was only ONE glass! I'm perfectly sober and perfectly serious!" he looked at her and she saw that genuine vulnerability in his eyes. "It turns out, Sarah O'Brien…that you're the fucking love of my life."

She blinked at him for a long moment as the words washed over her. "But…but what about all those things you said about how you hated the thought of spending your Christmas stuck with me—"

"Yeah, well, I was wrong!" he groaned. "Which…I know, is a new thing for me, admitting that I'm wrong," he muttered. "But…there I was, at Kylie's party, which is a gay man's paradise I might add—and all I could think about was you," he sighed, holding his arms out in surrender. "So here I am…because it's Christmas."

Sarah stared at him…and actually felt a strange warmth wash over her. In all her years of working with this frustrating man, she actually felt…moved.

"Well…" she murmured, looking down at her feet. "Well…I…I don't know what to say."

"That's a first," Thomas muttered, but when she met his eyes, she saw the humor in their blue depths and she couldn't help but laugh a little herself.

"Well, Thomas…I must say…well, if I'm honest, I must say that the feeling is…surprisingly mutual."

He smiled at this and began to move closer to her. "It's been an honor working with you, Miss O'Brien."

"And you, Mr. Barrow," she replied, holding her hand out to shake.

"Oh come on," he said with a roll of his eyes, opening his arms out to her. Sarah laughed and nodded her head, and awkwardly approached him…and put her arms around his waist, while he put his around her back…and they both hugged.

…And then quickly let go.

They may be the loves of each other's lives, but that didn't mean they had to get carried away with the mushiness of it all.

"Right, well, what are we drinking?" he asked, reaching down and picking up her bottle.

"That's mine, thank you very much," she said, snatching the bottle back. "But you're welcome to anything in the fridge."

His grin was cheeky, but Sarah found herself smiling back. "Right; well…let's get pissed and watch gay porn!"

Sarah groaned. "This may come as a shock to you, but I don't exactly fancy watching two blokes bugger each other like a pair of jack-rabbits."

"Fine," he said with a wave of his hand. "You get pissed and I'll watch the porn!"

* * *

The parade that was following Sybil from Mrs. Branson's brownstone had tripled in size. She was grateful she had the crutches, because she honestly didn't think she would be able to walk without them for the fact that her legs seemed to have turned into rubber, the closer and closer they got to the church.

_Oh God…there it is_, Sybil realized as the steeple came into view. Tom had told her this was the church where his parents had gotten married. She hoped that this little fact would help give her strength to tell him what she had traveled back to Dublin to say.

The doors to the church had opened and Sybil watched as she approached, as crowds of people emptied out onto the streets, some hugging, others shaking hands, everyone smiling and offering warm greetings of "Happy Christmas" in both English and Irish. Her eyes scanned the massive crowd of faces, gripping her crutches for support, as well as to keep herself from passing out over her growing anxiety. People passed her, no one seeming to take notice of this crowd of people who were standing around the outside of the church, perhaps thinking they had come from there too. But as the congregation continued to disperse…Sybil's head perked up as she heard a wonderful, warm, and very distinct laugh flow over the crowd.

And like magic…there he was. Laughing and talking with several people, all of whom seemed to have a similar look, be it a facial feature, or the color of hair, or the eyes, but all clearly some member of some kind in the Branson family.

She opened her mouth, but suddenly it seemed that her voice had disappeared! _TALK, DAMN IT! TALK! _ "Tom?" she finally managed to squeak, wishing her voice had sounded a great deal more elegant in that moment.

But he had heard her. Because he seemed to freeze suddenly. And the wonderful, handsome, laughing smile he was wearing disappeared…and slowly…he turned his head towards her…and everyone around the both of them seemed to hush as his eyes met hers.

"Sybil?" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oh God…this was the moment! The words he had said to her at the airport came rushing back, words asking her to take a leap of faith. Yes…yes, she could do this…she WILL do this!

"Tom," she repeated, hobbling a little closer. "I…I came back, as you can see," she murmured with a bashful smile. He smiled too, and opened his mouth to speak further, but she quickly lifted her hand to stop him. "Please…I need to say this and…and I honestly don't know how long my voice will last before I start squeaking or croaking…" or blubbering, she realized as she could feel the emotion well up in her throat.

"You were right Tom; we barely know each other, we are, in many ways still, a pair of strangers. And yet…" she took a deep breath. "And yet I feel I've known you my entire life!" she sniffled, cursing her emotions for already getting the better of her. "I came to Ireland with the hopes of getting away from the world and just…concentrate on my writing and not think about romance or anything connected to it, but…the moment I met you, both my mind and my heart betrayed me, because you kept filling my thoughts, both in waking and sleeping, and every time I saw you, or heard your car pull up to the cottage, I couldn't help but grin and feel my heart skip a beat because…because I was just so excited and so happy that you were back!"

Sybil swore she heard a few more sniffles, but she didn't dare to turn her head away from Tom. Not that she could really. The tender way his eyes were holding hers was like being enfolded in the warmest of blankets. She never wanted to leave those blue-green depths.

"I've spouted so many words about the importance of women understanding their self-worth and value, and yet I never understood or felt those things until I met you! You gave me courage to follow my heart, which is what I'm doing! I'm keeping Maggie alive in my books!" She proudly announced, blushing then and glancing very quickly and briefly to the crowd around her. "Sorry for the spoiler," she mumbled, which won a chuckle from Tom as he continued to look at her. "And if my publishers don't like it, then that's fine; I'll go somewhere else!" she declared, which earned her an even bigger smile from him. Oh how she loved that smile. It gave her such encouragement and made her feel so proud. "And just so you know, that new character I told you about? I did name him after you," she confessed, which earned another hearty laugh from him. "And yes, _there will be_ a great deal of sexual tension between Detective-Inspector Findley and her new partner!"

No one else had any idea to what she was talking about, but Sybil didn't care. Let everyone think her mad and a fool for doing this, for standing in the cold, in the snow, late at night on Christmas Eve. All that mattered was Tom. All she saw was Tom.

"Maybe it's foolish…but…but I don't care!" she confessed, smiling despite the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks. "I came back tonight, because…because I love you," she finally murmured, and a small gasp went up from around the crowd. Tom's eyes never left hers, but she thought she saw them swimming with tears as well…and his smile held nothing but sweet tenderness. "And…and I realized after I landed back in London that that's not my home anymore. My home is wherever you are. And so…I'm more than happy to stay here in Dublin, or…or anywhere, really, just…just so long as I can be with you…" she felt very vulnerable here, because she knew it was one thing to declare to someone that you loved them, and then another to say that you wanted to live and spend the rest of your life with them. But if she was saying this much, why not say the whole thing? "The truth is, Tom…if it weren't for these blasted crutches, I would say 'to hell with tradition'," she winced then, remembering she was standing in front of a church, "and get down on one knee, myself, and…and ask you to marry me," she blushed deeply, thinking how this had sounded so much better in her head than how it was coming out right now. But she wouldn't take it back; she wouldn't take ANY of it back.

"I…I know you're far more practical than I am, after all, I've read your amazing work—and maybe this all seems a little too much too soon, but…but it's Christmas and I wanted to tell you how I felt because you asked me to 'bet on you', and I am. I…I'm ready to travel, Tom; anywhere in in this world! And…and you're my ticket!" she blushed deeply, and found herself looking down, feeling a little scared to see what he was thinking now at all this. "So now, I'm asking you to 'bet on me'…" she let out a long, shaky breath and finally lifted her eyes, swallowing the nervous, emotional lump and wondering what he was thinking.

"You better say 'yes' you little bastard!" Kieran quipped, earning another smack on the back of his head from his mother.

A soft chuckle went up from around the crowd, including Tom. "Are you done?" he asked, his own voice sounding rather strained, and she saw those tears she had noticed earlier in his eyes…and a beautiful smile on his face.

She didn't trust her voice, so she simply nodded her head.

"Good," he chuckled, coming towards her and didn't stop until he had her swept up in his arms, her crutches falling to the ground with a snowy plop. He didn't waste any words; he simply bent down and kissed her, right there in the snow-covered streets of Dublin, his mouth urgent and sweet as it pressed firmly against her own. Sybil couldn't help but smile as she felt the loving insistence of his kiss, and gave a happy sigh, her mouth opening more and welcoming his tongue and deepening the kiss even further.

Was it her imagination? Or were people…_clapping?_ She felt Tom smiling against her lips, and she grinned back too, before twining her arms around his neck and kissing him even deeper, her fingers tangling in the hairs at the back of his neck, while his own beautiful hands pressed her even further to his chest, the warmth radiating from body enveloping her as she always knew it would.

"Yes," he groaned against her mouth, when the need to breathe became necessary.

She blushed and opened her eyes to look up at him. "Which part?" she breathlessly asked.

He grinned and began to lower his head again. "_All_ of it," he chuckled, his lips returning to hers again, with a murmured, _"I love you,"_ before kissing her deeply, once more. A strange sound, almost like a happy squeal, bubbled up out of her throat at his words, and she clung to him as they kissed, his strong, warm arms picking her up off the ground, and twirling her around in circles, as the crowd of his friends, neighbors, and family members continued to clap and applaud.

She would always remember this Christmas, as the happiest Christmas of her life.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_NEXT CHAPTER: how everyone is faring on Christmas Day, and I do mean *everyone*_


	20. Christmas Day

_My longest chapter ever, but I DON'T CARE! I was determined to get this all in *one* chapter, and so here it is! All the characters are mentioned, and it's Christmas, and this doesn't follow anything in the movie, I just wanted to show everyone at Christmas and tie up some loose ends with the stories *before* the final chapter, which is next (and goes back to the movie's canon, so to speak). So anyway, HOPE YOU ENJOY DESPITE THE LENGTH! :oP_

_As for the final chapter, I'm going to work really hard and get it posted *today* (at least while it's still Jan. 6 in US CST) so stay tuned! _

* * *

_Chapter Twenty_

**Christmas Day**

The jail cell they had put the both of them in was at least clean. It was also away from other prisoners, most of who had been arrested for drunk or disorderly conduct, nothing too severe. Once it had been learned that Charles and William were not terrorists planning on blowing anything up and were really just trying to get to a girl before her plane left, they were hauled away to a "not-quite-so-maximum security prison" (emphasis on the "not") and were told they would have to spend the night and better portion of the day in prison, as well as pay a hefty fine for the trouble they had caused at Heathrow. Not to mention there was now the very real possibility that they would both lose their jobs, once word reached the hotel owners and managers. But despite all these things, Charles couldn't help but smile at William whenever he glanced his way. The lad was beaming, and had been ever since Daisy had kissed him.

"I am sorry though," William murmured to him. "I know you weren't ready to retire yet, Mr. Carson—"

"Think nothing of it, lad," Charles dismissed. "Maybe it is time for me to retire? Perhaps I've let _The Edwardian_ take too much of my life—or at least the better part of it. Maybe it's time to…do other things?"

He was standing and leaning against the prison wall, his hands stuffed into his pockets and looking off at a window in the cell. They had arrived at the jail sometime between two and three in the morning. He had no idea what time it was now, but he imagined that somewhere in Britain, despite the darkness, children were waking up and growing restless at the thought of having to wait a few more hours before they could run down the stairs to open their presents.

He glanced at William and found himself smiling again, although his smile held some concern this time. "It's you I'm worried about, lad. But…no matter what the managers say, _I_ will give you a glowing reference—"

"Oh I'm not worried," William said with a laugh. "I'll find something. I did like baking all those treats—maybe I'll follow in Daisy's footsteps and become a pastry chef myself?" he chuckled. "Or perhaps a background pianist in Thomas Barrow's band?"

Both men laughed then for a while, before another wave of comfortable silence fell around them.

William was sitting on the edge of his prison cot, his elbows resting on his knees as he gazed up at Charles. "What do you think you'll do, Mr. Carson?"

Charles shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know…but…perhaps that's what I need; just an opportunity to…aimlessly wander?"

William smiled at this. The Mr. Carson he had known ever since he first started working at The Edwardian would never have dreamed of saying anything like that. But just like him, Mr. Carson had grown as well. "I'm still sorry, though," William sighed. "About…having to spend Christmas Day, or at least a large portion of it, in this cell with me. I know that you were looking forward to seeing your friend again."

Charles blushed at this, but simply cleared his throat and put on a stoic smile. "Yes, well…there will be other opportunities, I have no doubt," he murmured, more to himself than to his friend. At least, he hoped there would be more opportunities. He would certainly do his part in trying to make those opportunities happen! However, would Mrs. Hughes want to have anything to do with a…_a felon_ like himself?

"Indeed; and why not let _this_ be that opportunity?"

Charles and William looked at each other with surprise, and then William leapt to his feet and rushed over the cell's bars where Charles stood, and they both looked out at the woman who was quietly approaching them, a teasing smile spreading across her lips.

William looked up at Charles. "Isn't that—"

"Mrs. Hughes?" Charles gasped, hardly believing his eyes as she approached.

Mrs. Hughes softly laughed. "Elsie," she added, her smile never leaving her face.

"Mrs. Hughes—I mean, Elsie…" it felt strange calling her by her first name, only that he liked to be "proper" and "formal" and…didn't know if had earned the right to be so…"intimate" with her, at least not yet. "What…what are you doing here?"

"Beryl," Elsie simply replied. "She called me after you had called her."

Charles felt his face darken as he remembered the rather embarrassing phone call to The Edwardian's chef. He didn't have a lawyer to call, nor did he have any living relative—Mrs. Patmore was the closest person he had to family! Well, her and William, of course William was in the same boat as he in this situation. He called her and told her what had happened, and she naturally began demanding to know details, and he tried to explain that he would give her those details later, but…if she could find some way to help, if she could contact the hotel managers, he had a feeling they would get both him and William out of jail…although he knew it would also cost them their jobs, but those men would find out one way or another, eventually! But never had he dreamed that Mrs. Patmore would contact Elsie!

"Hello!" Elsie smiled at William, and despite the prison bars, extended her hand for the footman to shake. "It's very nice to meet you—in fact, I remember you! You were the lad playing the piano that afternoon—"

"Elsie," Charles interrupted, his brow creased with confusion, and a little apprehension. "Why…forgive me, but…why are you here? Why did Mrs. Patmore contact you?" He glanced down the darkened corridor where the other cells were. "I don't know if this is the safest place to be…" he murmured in a hushed voice.

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I'm from Glasgow, Mr. Carson; I've been in pubs that were rougher places than this prison cell," she muttered, but her eyes softened and she smiled at him…and then without warning, reached out and placed her hand atop his, which was gripping the cell bars. "And to answer your questions, Beryl was wise in calling me because of my…connections, shall we say," she said with a bit of a wink.

Charles' face darkened even more. "Your connections?" he questioned. "I…forgive me, I don't understand, I—"

"Alright you two!" an officer barked as he entered the corridor, looking at both Charles and William. "You're free to go," the officer grumbled, taking a key and unlocking the door.

Both Charles and William blinked at the policeman in confusion. "W-w-w-what?" the stammered in unison.

"As I said," Elsie went on. "Beryl was wise to contact me, due to who my employer is," she emphasized with a knowing look. "And all it took was a few phone calls and a few signed papers, and here we are!" And with that, the prison door was opened.

William frowned and looked up at Charles. "Mr. Carson?"

Charles stared at Elsie in utter amazement. _The Prime Minister_. Oh God, Mrs. Hughes contacted _the Prime Minister!_ And therefore through the Prime Minister, they were being released and—

"All charges are dropped," the officer muttered, confirming Charles' suspicions. "It was all just…some big misunderstanding."

_Some big misunderstanding._ The charges had been dropped. They weren't going to have to pay a massive fine. They weren't going to have to spend the rest of the night or half of Christmas Day in jail. They weren't going to have a record placed over their heads!

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Carson," Elsie grinned, taking both his and William's hands and pulling them out of the cell.

William still looked confused, but Charles slowly began to let the amazing reality of the situation wash over him. And he returned the smile, and then proceeded to offer his arm for Mrs. Hughes to take. "Thank you…Elsie," he murmured. "And please…call me Charles."

* * *

It was going to be a cloudy Christmas Day in London. But that was alright, he had nowhere to go. Thomas woke up with a groan, his back hurting from the chair he had fallen asleep in. All around him were empty bottles of whisky and lager, not to mention several crisp packets and chocolate wrappers.

He groaned, feeling the hangover quickly approach. The need to urinate was great, and so he rose to his feet to go and take care of that need. He realized then that he wasn't at his place. And judging from the looks of things, this wasn't some party he had passed out at and was now the only person left. No, the place wasn't nearly trashed enough. He looked around, trying to find evidence to where he was…and then found all the evidence he needed in the form of his manager, Sarah O'Brien, lying face down on her couch, her empty wine bottle still locked in her fingers, and in the midst of her sleep, she was mumbling, "sssssooooo iiiiiiiffffffffff yoooooooooooooou reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally loooooooooove Chrissssssssssssssssssssssss tmassssssssssssssss…"

He couldn't help but smile at the somewhat pathetic image. He picked up a blanket that was lying on the ground, and without another thought, picked the blanket up and draped it over Sarah's body, tucking her in like a mother would do with a child.

"Merry Christmas, Miss O'Brien," he murmured, kissing the tips of two fingers and placing them on her forehead, before excusing himself to use the loo.

* * *

"And here's another one for you Michael!" Matthew laughed, handing his godson another present.

"Oh Matthew, you spoil him, you know that, don't you?" Lavinia chastised as she watched her son rip through the wrapping paper.

Matthew shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to blame Mary for this one," he grinned, looking at the woman sitting next to him and taking her hand in his and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. Mary blushed deeply and returned the squeeze.

"WOW!" Michael grinned as he opened the gift and held up an authentic, genuine, policeman's hat.

"Do you like it?" Mary asked, a little bashfully. "I didn't have time to look for a proper present, but one of my bodyguards suggested this, and thought a boy would like it—"

"I LOVE IT!" Michael laughed. "Thanks, queen lady!" He immediately put the hat on his head, before running over to his mother and saying, "you're under arrest!"

"Oh dear," Mary laughed. "Have I created a monster?"

Lavinia laughed and shook her head. "No, no, it's a lovely present, thank you!" she said with a grin and encouraged her son to go and show the hat to the rest of the Swire family. "I must say, it is a real honor to have you visiting us, Prime Minister," she murmured, smiling at Mary and then at Matthew with a slight wiggle of her eyebrows.

Both Mary and Matthew blushed. "Well…the honor is all mine, actually," she confessed, which was true. Matthew had told her that morning (after spending the night—who was he to argue when the Prime Minister insisted?) that he had planned on visiting Michael in the morning, before joining his mother in the afternoon for a special Christmas lunch with his mother's new friend, Dr. Richard Clarkson.

"_You should come with me!" he insisted that morning, while they were still wrapped snuggly under the covers._

_Mary bit her lip, before burying her head against his chest. "I don't know…don't you think that will look like I'm…imposing? And I don't want people to feel awkward for having 'the Prime Minister' in their home—besides, it could a security risk—"_

_Matthew lifted a brow at this. "You think deadly assassins are hiding in either Lavinia's or Dr. Clarkson's homes just in case the Prime Minister pops by for Christmas lunch?"_

_She swatted his chest to which he chuckled. "No, I mean 'security risk' in the sense that…well, what if this gets leaked to the papers? I can see the headline now: 'Prime Minister shows favoritism by attending two houses—"_

"—_Where friends close to the Prime Minister live'," he finished the sentence for her. "It's not as great a scandal as your mind seems to think. If you're worried about scandals, it should be the fact that your newly assigned former press secretary is dating his boss."_

"_Hmm…" Mary murmured, lifting herself up on an elbow and looking down at him. "Perhaps you're right; perhaps I shouldn't give you back your old job?"_

"_Or give me a new assignment altogether," he sighed. "Like…boyfriend?"_

_She nibbled her lip but decided to take a risk. "What about…fiancée?"_

_His eyes widened with surprise…but then a grin slowly began to spread across his face and he took her face in his hands and brought her lips back down to his. "When can I get started, Prime Minister?"_

An hour later, they were finally dressed and on their way to Lavinia's. And like the previous night, all of the Swire's stared at Mary in absolute shock while Lavinia, cool and calm but warm and welcoming, ushered them inside, fed them a hearty breakfast, and then they proceeded to sit around the tree and watch as Michael unwrapped his presents.

"So, you'll be joining your mother this afternoon for Christmas Lunch with this new beau of hers?" Lavinia asked, with a teasing grin.

Matthew groaned and shook his head. "It feels so strange to find myself in this position—the anxious son, going to meet his mother's new boyfriend."

"Well, I hope you don't disapprove simply because she's an older woman," Mary said with a stern look.

Matthew quickly shook his head. "Age has nothing to do with it; it's the fact that she's _my mother_—OW!" he rubbed both his arms from where both Mary and Lavinia had swatted him.

"So tell me, Lavinia!" Mary said, turning and smiling brilliantly at her new friend. "Any embarrassing stories to share about Matthew's days as a solicitor in Manchester?"

Lavinia laughed. "Of course! But it's only fair if you share all the embarrassing stories that you know from when the two of you were children."

"Deal!" Mary grinned, rising from her place next to Matthew and following Lavinia into the kitchen to have a cup of tea.

Matthew groaned as he watched them go. "Maybe it _was_ a mistake to insist on her coming here?"

* * *

John watched from the background as Vera and the other patients participated in a "white elephant gift exchange", each laughing as they unwrapped something, before trying to "exchange" one person's "gift" with another. Every so often Vera would glance his way, and he would smile, nodding his head as she went back to the game with the other patients.

Today had been a very, very good day for her. She had called him only twice the previous evening, both times to make sure he hadn't forgotten his promise to come to the Christmas party. He assured her both times that he hadn't forgotten, that he would be there, and much to his pleasant surprise, she believed him (at least to the point where she didn't call him that morning). He did arrive early though, just in case, and she smiled and waved and took his hands in hers, but nothing further.

There was a pleasant meal, nothing too elaborate, except for dessert. There were a great many desserts, including several types of cake. Afterwards, they played charades, sang a few carols, and had now moved onto the gift exchange. John glanced around the room at the other guests the patients had invited, taking note that there were fifteen patients in the room…and only seven guests, including himself. Some of those guests seemed rather anxious themselves, glancing around the room nervously, as if they expected some sort of hostile takeover by the patients. Other guests clearly looked bored, and would glance at their watches every so often, as if counting the minutes to when they could leave. John sighed and shook his head, before turning his attentions back to Vera and the other patients. Yes, he was glad he had come, even if it did mean putting his own hopes and desires on hold.

However…he couldn't deny that he was also sad for having perhaps hurting another. He sighed and looked down at his feet, wondering what she was doing right now. He hoped she was at a party, that she was with friends and that she was laughing and showing the world her beautiful radiance. And he hoped that…as much as it hurt him to admit…that she would meet someone at that party, someone far more worthy of her love and affection than him, someone who could love and treat her the way she should be treated. He dearly wished that could be him…but…no, it wasn't meant to be. What woman would take on that sort of burden? A man like himself with these sorts of "complications"?

"John?"

He looked up and put on a smile, not realizing Vera had walked up to him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, shaking his head. "So…what did you get in the end?"

"Oh it doesn't matter; just some silly game. But…I wanted to give you something," she was holding a bag, complete with green and red tissue paper. John was surprised; the patients weren't allowed to go out and shop. She seemed to be reading his thoughts, because she quickly added, "I made it."

He opened the bag and removed the tissue paper…and was surprised to see a maroon colored scarf.

"You made this?" he asked with surprise.

She nodded. "Under close supervision, of course," she mumbled. "And the knitting needles were plastic." She took the scarf out of his hands and proceeded to wrap it around his neck. "Oh…I'm afraid it's a bit long," she moaned in a slightly worried tone.

"It's lovely," he said, stopping her before she could utter another possible negative comment. "And I needed a new scarf, truly, so thank you, Vera."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but then smiled and tied the scarf up in a neat bow, which made her laugh at how goofy he no doubt looked. She glanced then at some of the other guests and then back at her fellow patients. "I feel sorry for them," she whispered. He followed her eyes and had an inkling of what she meant. She turned back and looked at him and took his hands in hers. "Thank you for coming, John."

"It was my pleasure, Vera, truly," he said with a smile, and actually meant it, too. How easy it was to get wrapped up in the attitude that Christmas was all about getting and receiving for one's self…and how easy it was to lose sight that it was about giving of yourself to others? Vera was getting better, he could see that, but she still had a long way to go as well. He hoped that a day would come when she wouldn't depend on him as much as she did now, but until that day arrived, he would continue to do what he could to keep her calm, and help her recover. And if that meant spending some time with her on Christmas, then so be it.

She tugged on his hands until he was up out of his chair. He looked at her with question, but she simply smiled and released his hands. "You should go," she murmured.

He was even more surprised by these words than by any gift she had offered. "Are you sure?" In all the time she had been there, never, not once, had she suggested that he should leave first. It was always he having to tell her needed to go…or a member of staff telling them both she needed to go back to her room, and he needed to leave.

She took a deep breath, looking a little pained; clearly this was new territory for her as well. But she nodded her head and swallowed and gave him a gentle push towards the exit. "Yes, I want you to go—I…I want you to go and enjoy Christmas with…with your friends."

He really didn't have any friends, but he wouldn't tell her that for fear it would upset her and make her feel guilty. Still, this was very surprising. He remembered how the last time he had been there, she had told him she wanted him to be happy, that that was her Christmas wish for him. Perhaps…this was another present she was giving him.

"Alright," he finally murmured, and took her hand once more and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed his back, but was the first to release it. That was another first.

"Merry Christmas, John."

He murmured the same to her, and then slowly, made his way out of the institution, waiting for her protest, waiting to hear her footsteps running after him—but they never came. And he didn't stop to turn around until he was outside the building and across the street. "Amazing," he finally whispered. Maybe his Christmas wish for Vera was coming true as well? It was a small step, of course, but…it _was_ a step.

His place wasn't that far away from the institution. In fact, he had chosen it so it would be within walking distance. He supposed he would simply go home and see if any of the Chinese take-away restaurants were open for the day and settle in for a quiet evening by himself like most evenings, when…he noticed a figure sitting on the steps leading up to the building of his flat. Every so often some poor soul who had nowhere to go would seek shelter in these covered doorways, but…as he got closer, the figure didn't look like a homeless person, or at least like most homeless people he had seen in the area. No, in fact, he swore he recognized the person! No…it couldn't possibly…

"Anna?"

"Oh!" she jumped, and then quickly rose to her feet. "Oh, John! You're here!"

He looked at her, stunned by her presence. What was she doing there? His eyes took her in, noticing how tightly she was bundled up, and how pink her cheeks and nose looked. How long had she been sitting there? "God, you must be freezing," he fretted, quickly getting his key out. "Come on, let's get you inside and—"

"No, no, I'm fine, really," Anna insisted, and stopped his hand, her own touching his and stopping him from putting the key in his door. "I um…I'm sorry, I know this must look strange, seeing me here—"

"No, no, not at all! I just…" he looked at her, hardly believing she was there. He had just been thinking about her…and she was here! Like…like a present left to him by Father Christmas. "Why?" he found himself asking.

She looked up at him, and a tender smile spread across her face. She nibbled her bottom lip and John couldn't help but gaze at her lips, remembering how wonderful they had against his own, and how sweet they had tasted. But he also remembered how horrible that night had ended, how he had to leave…and how he had to accept that a future with Anna Smith just wasn't in the cards.

"Don't you know, Mr. Bates?"

His eyes and drifted to the ground then, but he lifted them and looked at her with confusion. "I…I don't understand? Don't I know what?"

She was smiling at him, and John couldn't understand why. Why was such a sweet woman like Anna Smith standing here, waiting for him to return, apparently, when she could be anywhere else? Where she could be swept off her feet by a man who deserves her, a much worthier man than himself? Why was she there, smiling up at him like…like he was the only man in the world?

"I…I know it won't be easy," she murmured, her eyes lowering for a moment. "I know that you have responsibilities, I know you have made promises, and I know that…there may be times when things must be put on hold so that you can keep those promises," she looked up at him then…and took his other hand in hers. "But…that's what I love about you, Mr. Bates," she whispered, blushing as she could feel the emotion bubbling up in her throat. "When we first met, I fell in love with you because of your warmth, your kindness, your generosity…but now, now I truly _do_ understand that, and…and while I won't deny, it is a bit complicated," she held his gaze. "I think I love you even more because of it."

He was barely breathing. He stared down at her and wondered if perhaps he should pinch himself. Was this a dream? Oh God, he prayed not. "Anna…" his voice was barely recognizable. "What…what are you saying, exactly?"

She lifted one of his hands to her cheek, which despite the frigid temperatures outside wasn't cold, but very, very warm. "I want to try, John," she whispered. "I love you and I want to try. I…I don't want to give up without at least trying."

His heart was leaping in his chest, but he tried to keep his joy from turning him into a grinning idiot. "Are you sure, Anna? I…I mean you could truly do so much better and certainly with someone far less complicated—"

He was cut off by the fierce press of her lips against his. Her hands had released his own and where now gripping his shoulders, pulling him down to her, while she leaned up on the tips of her toes. John was stunned by the kiss, but he didn't push her away. If anything, one arm moved around her body and brought her closer to him, while the other continued to hold and caress the warm skin of her cheek. What had he done to deserve such sweetness? To deserve this…second chance at happiness?

The kiss ended and they were both breathing raggedly. "Now…" she managed to speak. "There will be no more questioning talk about 'what sort of man I deserve' because if my friendship with Robert Crawley's daughters has taught me anything, it's to…to speak my mind and to make such decisions like that for myself, and to not be dictated to by others."

He couldn't help but smile down at her. He liked this new side of Anna. In truth, he loved it. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, before leaning in and kissing her forehead.

"I'm also here to invite you to a party," she announced with a smile.

John's eyes widened at this. "A party?"

Anna nodded her head. "I ran into an old friend last night—a former flat mate of mine, actually. She told me that a bunch of her friends were getting together at _The Edwardian_, and invited me…and a guest, to join them."

"_The Edwardian_?" he asked, surprised by this news. He had never set foot in the luxury hotel, but he couldn't deny he had always been curious. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Anna laughed, linking her arm through his. "And don't fret about your appearance; you look perfect, Mr. Bates, just the way you are…" she blushed and then added, "but you always have to me."

Amazing; this Christmas truly a day of miracles. First Vera was having an exceptionally good day, she showed obvious signs of progress, and now…here was Anna, not only telling him she loved him, but also telling him that she wanted to give the two of them a chance; that she didn't want to be afraid of the complications that might arise, that she believed…they were both worth finding happiness…and with each other. And now he was being invited to join her, as her date, at a party! At a luxury London hotel, on top of it all!

However, he quickly reminded himself, that night, the night of the office party, had seemed just as perfect too. And then it had spiraled downward quickly.

"Anna," he felt he should warn her and give her one last chance to reconsider, even though it would kill him to see her turn her back now. "I did see Vera today, and while she seemed to be doing well, there is always the chance that she'll ring—"

"And if she does, and you feel it's necessary to go to her…then I will patiently wait for you," Anna said with determination. "And if you aren't able to come back to the party, then I will continue patiently waiting for your return…at my place," she said with a blush. He knew the way.

He gazed down at her and felt his smile grow even wider. The look in his eyes was pure amazement. "You really are determined, aren't you?"

She nodded her head. "Absolutely; I've waited for nearly seven years to work up the courage to even speak to you, John Bates. I'm not going to waste another moment on fear or doubt."

His fingers ran across the skin of her cheek and he pulled her even closer to his body and once again, began to lower his lips towards hers. But before they closed in another tender kiss, he murmured at last, the words Anna had been longing to hear for so long. "I love you, Anna Smith."

* * *

"KIERAN!" shouted Aileen Branson. "I'VE ASKED YOU FOR THE SALT _FOUR_ TIMES!"

"Oh, so THAT was the banshee cry I heard in my ear?" Kieran muttered, threatening to throw the salt shaker down the table at his little sister.

"MANNERS, BOTH OF YOU!" Mrs. Branson muttered, before lifting her eyes to the heavens and murmuring what seemed like her eighteenth prayer for that day. She then put on a sweet smile and turned to Sybil and said, "They're not usually this rowdy—"

"Yes they are," Tom muttered, giving his mother a cheeky grin.

"When I want your commentary, I'll ask for it!" Mrs. Branson threatened, before giving her son's hefty shoulder a shove. Tom only chuckled, and Sybil soon found herself giggling too.

The room was packed. Family members had to bring their own chairs, and it was amazing how many people they could cram around Mrs. Branson's dining room table. There were a few card tables set up in the living room just beyond, attended to mainly by small children and a few of the younger, teenage/university age couples, who wanted to be away from the rest of the noisy family so they could continue to look longingly into each other's eyes. Just when it seemed that they couldn't possibly fit more people into that house, let alone that room, more arrived. But everyone was greeted with a hug, a kiss, and a wish for a happy and wonderful Christmas, sometimes in English, more often in Irish.

"You're going to have to translate for me," Sybil whispered into Tom's ear. She was grateful that he was sitting right next to her. It helped put her more at ease with his family, not to mention he could whisper in her ear and help her remember all the names of everyone who walked through the door. It was also nice having him there so she could reach down and run her fingers along his.

"Handyman, driver, tour guide _and_ translator?" he sighed wearily for show. "I should start charging you for my services."

She lifted a brow at this and he tried to bat his eyes oh so innocently. "And tell me, Mr. Branson? What is the going rate for a man of your…talents?"

He seemed impressed by her naughty flirtation. The little seductress on her shoulder was beaming with pride. And her little feminist was proud for her use of wit and her capability for turning the tables back on him. "Let's start…with a kiss, _mo ghile álainn__…" _he murmured, his beautiful brogue deepening as he spoke in his native language. "And we'll go from there."

Sybil blushed at his promise, and smiled as she leaned in and accepted the offer of his kiss, purring softly in her throat as she felt his lips move against her own.

"MAM!" someone from the table shouted. "TOMMY IS KISSING _AGAIN!"_

Tom muttered a curse and reluctantly pulled his lips away. Sybil bit her lip to keep her giggles from bursting.

"If it bothers you so much, THEN LOOK THE OTHER WAY!" Tom growled at the offended sibling, before threatening to throw his napkin at their head.

"Get a room," one of the cousin's muttered, before turning to Sybil and giving her a secret wink. They were doing this more to get Tom's goat than because they were "disgusted" by the sight of the two of them kissing.

"Enough, ENOUGH!" Mrs. Branson muttered, waving her arms at the various family members and looking ready to take a few of them and bash their heads together.

Indeed, Christmas with the Branson's was exactly what Sybil had envisioned—glorious chaos. And yet, despite the seven or ten different conversations that were happening around the table, the near arguments that were getting ready to break forth between various siblings or cousins or even a few of the doe-eyed couples, or the slightly "rude" behavior of some of the children trying to "out burp" the one another, while some of the adults snuck more liquor than perhaps they should when one of the matriarchs wasn't looking—Sybil found that she loved it. _ALL_ of it. Back home, her grandmother would never tolerate such behavior, let alone allow a couple to do something as "lower class" as sit next to one another at the table. But for Sybil, this chaotic pressure-cooker of people, food, and emotions, was exactly how she felt Christmas should be. And she loved how easily she had been accepted into it.

_After her and Tom's sweet reunion the night before, Mrs. Branson pushed her son out of the way and gave her a fierce hug, before grabbing her head and giving her a big, sloppy kiss on both cheeks. Kieran then came right up behind his mother, and also proceeded to give her a friendly hug and kiss, although Tom pulled his brother off her the second he tried to claim her lips. "What?" Kieran muttered, trying to look innocent. "She's as good as family!"_

_Tom muttered something to his brother in Irish, and then wrapped an arm around her. "Mam, you had her walk all this way in those crutches?"_

_"Want me to carry her for you?" Kieran teased._

_"Get off!" Tom muttered, and Sybil found herself laughing, and then blushing as he swept her up into his arms, after thrusting her now empty crutches into his brother's hands. Tom carried her all the way back to Mrs. Branson's brownstone, pausing every so often to steal a kiss. Sybil didn't mind, not in the least._

_"Alright, we're home now, put her down!" Mrs. Branson chastised as Kieran handed Sybil back her crutches. "Now away with ya, Tommy; you'll see more of her tomorrow," she then proceeded to shout something to one of Tom's sisters, about preparing a room for Sybil to stay. As much as Sybil may have wished it, she wasn't to spend the night with Tom. But she wouldn't dream of uttering a complaint; she was grateful that Mrs. Branson had welcomed and accepted her, even after the discovery that she wasn't in love with her eldest son._

_Tom rolled his eyes at his mother's instructions, but leaned forward and kissed her again before leaving. "I was hoping you would come back," he told her, his nose rubbing hers. "But I never dreamed it would be for Christmas!"_

_"Well," she sighed, smiling up at him. "I realized that the only present I wanted wasn't one that could be wrapped and placed under the tree…"_

_He lifted a brow at her words and a wicked smile began to spread across his face. "Well, we can see about that later, perhaps?"_

_"AWAY WITH YA!" Mrs. Branson muttered, and both Tom and Sybil laughed as his mother practically pushed him out the door. That night, Sybil hardly slept a wink, despite the comfortable mattress and warm quilt. She called her mother as promised, and her mother quickly burst into tears, but reassured her it was because she was happy for her girls and for no other reason. Sybil had some doubts about that, but because it was late, chose to refrain from asking. When morning arose, Sybil awoke to the wonderful smell of sausages wafting through the house…and the eager knock of Tom at his mother's door._

_The rest of the Branson family began to arrive shortly after Tom's arrival. Sybil met so many people she doubted she would remember them all, but Tom promised to sit next to her and help her if she had any questions. She was asked so many questions, about what she did, where she lived back in England, her connections to Ireland, and several of them revealed that they were fans of her books, and wondered if now because she and Tom were "a thing" if they could get their names in a few novels. Tom groaned and told them to back off, but Sybil only laughed and smiled and said she would see what she could do._

_Pictures of Tom were shown to her, pictures of him as a baby, as a toddler, and every year in school. "He was a very spotty teenager," one of his aunts sighed, causing Tom to turn bright red, but Sybil to turn and smile at him with sympathy._

_"I was too," she murmured to his reassurance._

_He shook his head. "Don't believe you; I don't believe a woman as gorgeous as you could be anything other than flawless."_

_"Outside with the lot of ya!" Mrs. Branson shouted at one point. "I'm tired of chasing so many you out of my kitchen! When dinner is finished, I'll call you in, but until then—OUT!"_

_So in the final hours before dinner, Sybil and Tom and the rest of the family who were not considered one of the matriarchs, found themselves outside, playing in the crisp, clean snow that blanketed all of Dublin. The older men and Kieran stood off to the side, passing around a bottle to keep warm. The small children proceeded to build snowmen or make snow angels, while the older ones, as well as some of the adults, began forming teams for a snowball fight. Tom was pulled into one of the teams, and Sybil sat off to the side, cheering him on and secretly wishing she could play, if only it weren't for her cast. However, she did make a few snowballs, and whenever Tom passed by…she did not resist in launching one or two. When he finally realized who was responsible for the mysterious attacks, he turned and launched himself at her, wrestling her to the ground and threatening to cover her with snow…but instead, covered her face with kisses._

"Again?" _groaned one of his younger siblings. "You're worse than Liam and his new girlfriend!"_

_"TOM! Get off her and get inside and clean up!" ordered one of his aunts. "Dinner's ready!"_

And so here they were, gathered around with more and more family members arriving, and just when it seemed that the table was bare, more food would somehow magically appear. Yes, it was a noisy Christmas, but Sybil loved it and would never want to experience anything else ever again.

"So…what are your plans for Boxing Day?" he asked her, smiling and giving her hand a tender squeeze.

"I thought I would get more of an 'in depth' tour?" she grinned, returning the squeeze.

He nodded his head and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. "As milady wishes," he said for effect, knowing it would earn him a swat, which she rightfully gave him. "And…may I suggest something?"

He sounded serious, and Sybil held his gaze. "I would very much like to take you to the embassy…and then a courthouse."

_Embassy. Courthouse_. Oh Lord…was he…was he suggesting…?

The noise that was all around them began to melt away, as he murmured in his native tongue, "_Pósadh liom? Bí mo bhean chéile?" _

She had no idea what he had said…but it sounded beautiful. Something cold touched her finger, and she looked down and gasped at the sight of the simple, yet beautiful silver claddagh ring he was sliding up her left ring finger. "Tom…" She could feel the tears, but she didn't care. Let the whole table see her become a happy, emotional, blubbering mess.

"_Is breá liom tú, Sybil," _he whispered._ "__Bean mo chroi."_

"Tom this isn't fair," she said with a blush, furiously trying to wipe away her tears. "I have no idea what you're saying!"

He chuckled and leaned close to kiss her again, not caring if the whole room complained. "Then I'll devote my lifetime to teaching you," he whispered.

She liked the sound of that. Very, very much. "You know…my parents will be celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary tomorrow…"

He nodded his head. "I remember; and didn't you also tell me that it was a 'romantic whim' to get married and not bother with waiting with all the planning and preparation."

She giggled and nodded her head. "Like mother like daughter, I suppose…" she murmured, leaning close again until her lips were only a breath away.

"Far be it from me to meddle with family tradition," he teased.

"Tom…" she looked into his eyes and there was a wicked light glowing in their depths. "How do you say_…'kiss me'_, in Irish?"

He grinned. "Like this…" and he answered her, by demonstrating with his lips against hers.

* * *

"Right, well, let the other cooks handle the restaurant from here on out, because I am DONE for Christmas!" Mrs. Patmore proudly announced, as she joined her friends at the table that had been prettily set aside just for them.

Charles smiled and glanced over at Elsie—he was loving that name more and more—and looked across the table at William, who was grinning back at him…as well as grinning at the fact that every so often, either he or Elsie would touch hands. Yes, this was indeed an "unusual" show of affection for him, but after everything both he and William had endured the previous evening, he didn't care. Time was not a thing to be wasted wondering, "what if?" And Lord knew he had wasted enough of his life doing that.

"I understand you're a fan of _'Doctor Who'_, Charles?" Elsie murmured to him as she passed a dish his way.

Charles' eyes flew to William who simply shrugged. "Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "I um…William introduced me to the show—"

"I watched it when I was younger, I confess," Elsie sighed. "It's hard to imagine anyone topping Tom Baker's performance, but I have heard so many good things about the current series…"

Charles looked at her and saw a somewhat cheeky and flirtatious look in her eyes. He couldn't help but smile. "Well, Mrs. Hughes…" he grinned. "Perhaps after dinner is over, you would care to see an episode?"

Jimmy, who had just sat down next to William lifted his head upon hearing this. "Oh will you be watching the Christmas Special later, Mr. Carson? Can I join too? OW!" he looked at Mrs. Patmore who was sending him a deathly glare for suggesting anything.

Charles forced a smile but shook his head. "I would think, James, that you might be a little busy…"

Jimmy hadn't missed the emphasis on the concierge's words, nor the glare from Mrs. Patmore. He didn't say anything further, simply tucked into his meal and wondered again what had happened to Alfred? His friend had called him two days after going to America, and told him about all the amazing women he had met, but then hung up when his voice suddenly sounded muffled…like…something was covering his mouth and preventing him from speaking. Jimmy honestly didn't know if he should be worried or just assume that Alfred was being forgetful?

"Any word from Daisy?" William asked, turning to Mrs. Patmore.

"She's settled in already at her dormitory," the cook announced, looking very proud. "I have a few friends from my cooking school days who work and live over there; she's spending Christmas with them," she explained. "Oh, but she did ask after you, William."

William beamed at this and glanced over at Mr. Carson. Charles smiled back and returned to eating his turkey.

Something seemed to catch William's eye, and the lad looked up and gasped, before rising to his feet and crossing the dining room quickly. "DAD!" he shouted, running forward and embracing his father. Everyone at the table turned to see the two Mason men hugging, and Elsie murmured something sweet under her breath…and once again reached for Charles' hand.

Charles quickly returned the tender squeeze and smiled as he watched William and his father hug. While the lad was not his son, and nor would Charles ever try to do anything that would undermine the lad's father…he couldn't help if at times he felt like…a second father. He certainly saw William as the son he never had. And a son any man could be proud to call his own.

"Dad, come here and meet everyone!" William grinned, bringing Mr. Mason over to the table. "This is Mr. Carson, the concierge," he introduced. "And his friend, Mrs. Hughes…and that's Jimmy, he's a waiter here, and this is Mrs. Patmore, she's the chef!"

Everyone had paused in their eating to greet the newest arrival and shake his hand, but when William turned his father to Mrs. Patmore…things suddenly seemed to freeze, and both Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason stared at one another for a moment, before speaking at the same time, "Pleased to meet you! OH! I do beg your pardon—we did it again! _AND AGAIN!"_

A hearty laugh erupted around the room, but Elsie noticed how quickly her dear friend was turning pink as she glanced at Mr. Mason, who was given a chance to sit next to her, on William's other side.

"It looks like the tables have turned on the match-maker," she murmured into Charles' ear.

He glanced at Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason and noticed how they kept blushing and smiling at one another. He then turned his eyes back to Mrs. Hughes and felt his own cheeks darken. "A memorable Christmas, indeed," he said.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Yes it is, Mr. Carson. And quite possibly…_the best_, as well."

* * *

Cora stood in the doorway of drawing room of Downton Abbey, the ancestral home of the Crawley family back when they still had members of the aristocracy in their blood, and watched as the small, unexpected but certainly not unwelcomed party played a hearty game of charades.

Mary's helicopter arrived only an hour later than anticipated, but that was simply because she was bringing three additional guests with her. Matthew Crawley (which didn't surprise Cora; she anticipated him staying after everything she had witnessed the previous evening, and even had a room prepared for him…despite the fact that she figured he would more than likely be found in Mary's room), but also Matthew's mother, Isobel, and another gentleman, Dr. Richard Clarkson, who was apparently a good friend of Isobel's…not to mention Sir Anthony's doctor, which he quickly informed her upon seeing Dr. Clarkson enter the house.

According to Mary, she and Matthew had spent Christmas morning with Matthew's godson, and then had Christmas lunch with Isobel and the Clarkson's, who on behalf of Dr. Clarkson, and invited both Isobel and Matthew to join him. Mary told her it was a little awkward at first (they were certainly surprised to see their unexpected guest) but the Clarkson's, once having gotten over their initial shock at having the Prime Minister in their house, were very welcoming and accommodating, and Mary had a grand time there, and then insisted that Isobel and Richard (Dr. Clarkson) join her and Matthew at Downton for Christmas. She even mentioned how Sir Anthony Strallan, the producer for the show which they had consulted and worked for, was her brother-in-law and would be watching the Christmas Special with all of them that evening, and so it was really only appropriate that they be there too! Well, Isobel had a few memories of Downton from when Matthew was younger, and she was curious as to how Violet was, so she quickly agreed…and that was how this merry party had been formed.

Now, Mary and Edith, their respective partners, and Isobel and Dr. Clarkson, were all in the drawing playing the game, while Violet sat in the background, wearing a smile, even though anyone could tell that it look strained. Cora wasn't sure if that was because there were unexpected guests in the house? Or if it were because of her own mother, who was sitting next to Violet…and who honestly seemed quite intent on making this Christmas…unforgettable…for Robert's mother.

_ Robert…_

Cora sighed and looked down at the steaming mug of tea she held in her hands. She had promised her husband that she would speak with him after dinner was over, which had been over an hour ago. He had arrived in the midafternoon, just before Mary and her guests had arrived. Apparently he had driven all of the way to Downton, as it was near impossible to get a train ticket on Christmas Day. When he arrived, it was easy to see that he looked quite miserable, as well as that he hadn't gotten a great deal of sleep from the night before. She couldn't deny that a part of her wondered if he would spend the last night or any of that day with…with _her_…but something in her heart, despite the fact that it lay in broken pieces, told her this wasn't so. And so she chose not to question the issue further, and simply wore a polite face like that of any hostess, so as not to draw attention from anyone else on what was really happening beneath the veneer of the so-called "perfect marriage".

She sighed and turned to make her way to the Downton library where she knew Robert was waiting. She only prayed that she would look "presentable" afterwards and not need to retouch her make-up too much to hide the tears she had no doubt would be shed.

Robert was pacing near a window when she entered, and looked so relieved to see her. "Oh Cora, thank God…" he sighed.

She gave him a weak smile and shut the door. "Sorry to have kept you waiting," she murmured.

"No, no, you don't need to apologize, I…" he looked at her and she could see the sadness in his eyes, as well as the shame. "I um…how…how is everyone?"

"They're well," she assured. "They're all playing charades in the drawing room; your mother seems to be sulking a little, but you know how she hates surprises," she murmured with a bit of a chuckle.

"Yes…" Robert agreed. He didn't care for them too greatly either. "What…what's this I hear about Sybil? She's back in Ireland?"

Cora nodded her head. "Yes, she met a man there during her stay and wanted to spend Christmas with him."

_"A man!"_ Robert looked positively aghast. "And…and you just _let_ her go?"

Cora gave him a look. "Robert…she's twenty-five years old, she can come and go as she pleases without her parents' permission," she said with a slight roll of her eyes. "And it was clear that she loves him—"

_"Loves him?_ She hardly knows him!"

"Well we hardly knew each other when we decided to get married!" Cora hissed, her temper getting the better of her. "Oh, and did Mary tell you that she and Matthew are apparently engaged? Because they are! Are you going to question that as well?"

Robert stared at her in shock, both from the sudden anger as well as from the news about both their eldest and youngest daughters. "I…well…" he coughed. "That's a little different—I mean, we know Matthew, and he and Mary are hardly strangers—"

"ROBERT!" Cora threw her hands up into the air. "YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT!" She was clearly exasperated. "Firstly, it's been well over ten years since Mary and Matthew have seen each other, and I think after that long of an absence, a person _may_ seem like a stranger again—BUT THE POINT, Robert, is that sometimes…YOU JUST KNOW!" she groaned. "Mary has been reunited with Matthew after all this time, and…_she just knows_, Robert! She knows he's the man for her! And Sybil met this man in Ireland—Tom, I think is his name. Anyway, she's met this man and _just knew_ and realized that he is the one for her! And remember how your mother complained about Anthony, saying he was 'far too old' for Edith and tried to convince her to end the relationship? But Edith refused because _she just knew!_ _All_ of our daughters KNEW the moment they found love…just…just…" oh Lord, the emotions had arrived. "Just as…as we _used_ to know!"

She turned away from him and wiped furiously at her eyes and cheeks. No matter how many times she had rehearsed this argument in her mind ever since the night before, she knew it wouldn't keep her from crying.

A painful silence filled the room then. Cora silently cried, but she kept her back to her husband. She needed to be strong right now, and knew upon looking at him that it would be very tempting to run into his arms if he opened them up to her.

"I didn't give her the necklace."

Cora froze. She still had her back to her husband.

"I…I…I realized I had made a mistake, and so returned it the next day, and I can prove it to you, I have the receipt—"

"Oh stop it, Robert!" she turned and glared at him. "You think that makes up for everything? You bought that necklace with the intention of giving it to her! It doesn't matter if you returned it before she saw it, because you still had bought it _FOR HER!"_

"YES, I KNOW!" he all but roared, his own emotions and frustrations getting the better of him. "I FUCKED UP, CORA! I MADE A MISTAKE _AND FUCKED UP!"_

She wasn't used to hearing him curse. Only when he was very upset did he ever curse, as far as she could remember. She turned and looked at him and saw the man she married, the man she loved—still loved, despite this heartbreak—look back at her, tears flowing down his eyes and covering his face. He looked just as raw and vulnerable as she felt.

"I don't know what you want me to say—"

"Anything you like," he held his arms out from his body. "You want to shout curses at me? By all means. You want to hit me or slap me? Then do it! I _deserve_ it!"

"I don't want you to be a martyr—"

"I'm NOT! I'm being deadly serious, Cora, I fucked up and now have to live with the consequences!" he groaned, gripping the edge of a nearby desk and bending his body forward as great, giant sobs racked through him. "Oh God! I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" he sobbed.

She was crying even harder too, and Lord, it was taking every ounce of strength she had not to rush over and enfold him in her arms. She waited to speak until they seemed to have gotten a hold of themselves once again. "Robert…" she began, taking a deep breath. "Contrary to what…to what you may think right now…I…I don't hate you," she whispered. "I don't know if I ever could, to be honest…and…and yes, I confess…I do still love you."

He looked up at her then, and she saw hope in the depths of his eyes. "Oh Cora—"

He started to come around the desk to where she stood, but she held up a hand to stop him from coming any further. If he touched her, that would be it; she wouldn't be able to say what she needed to say.

"I…I don't hate you. And I still love you…and you have our daughters and guests to thank for that, actually," she murmured, thinking about how deeply in love her older two had looked this evening, and recalling the passion she had heard in Sybil's voice the previous evening. She also remembered the phone call she had had with her youngest, who sounded so…happy, that she had not only found Tom and told him how she felt, but that he returned her affections and loved her just as fiercely. She even recalled watching both Isobel and her gentleman friend, Dr. Clarkson, talk and look at each other during the meal. Here were two people who were at an age when some would think Love was not possible, and yet…they looked so happy, and no matter how old they were, reminded Cora of how wonderful it felt to fall in love; how frightening and yet how thrilling it was. She had felt that way once; she still felt that way, in a sense.

"Cora…" she looked up at Robert and swallowed hard as she realized just how close he was standing to her. Literally, if she reached out, she could touch him. "I…I _do_ love you," he whispered. "I know that may sound strange considering all the…the…damned foolish decisions I recently made, but…there has only been one woman—_one person_ in the world for me…and that is and has always been…_you._"

"Robert—"

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, nor am I asking for it," he interrupted, which surprised her a little. He took a deep breath and continued, while also taking a tentative step back. "Thirty-five years ago I met this amazing American woman who swept into my life and knocked me on my feet," he chuckled softly, despite the tears that glistened in his eyes. "I think I fell in love with you in that first conversation," he whispered. "And…and that Christmas we made a mad decision—both of us—to begin our lives together, without all the pomp and circumstance my mother would have insisted upon—"

"Yes, even though we had a formal ceremony a few months later, she never did forgive us for eloping on Boxing Day, did she?" Cora mused, remembering the shade of purple Robert's mother had turned after learning they had gotten married without telling anyone.

"She said it was your 'bad American influence'," he chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Little did she know that it was _you_ who suggested the idea in the first place!"

They both laughed then remembering that day with such fondness…and looked at each other from across that small space that divided them both. Never had such a small space felt like such a giant chasm.

"I'm going to need time, Robert…" she finally spoke, looking down and swallowing the emotional lump in her throat.

He nodded his head and took a deep breath. "I understand," he whispered. "And I have no one to blame but myself, of course. I've hurt you, Cora; I've broken your trust and for that I will never forgive myself—"

"Oh stop it," she chastised, giving him a look a warning. "Just…just give me the space and time that I need right now, that's all I'm asking."

It was a painful thing to hear, but…what else could be done? It could be worse, of course; she could be shouting at him and telling him she wanted a divorce, and he wouldn't blame her if she did. All people made mistakes, but his had been most, most foolish. Even if "nothing had happened" between him and Jane, the pain in regards to the "possibility" was still there.

"I…I'm thinking of going back with my mother to Cincinnati—just until the school break is finished," she explained. "I haven't been there in ages, and it would be nice to see the States again."

Her words cut him in two, but he nodded his head, knowing that he needed to do this, that he needed to put some trust in her and believe that she would come back to Britain—and back to him.

"I will miss you…" he whispered. "Dreadfully."

She nodded and looked up at him. "I'll miss you too, Robert…" she looked down then at one of his hands…and with a deep breath, reached forward and took it in hers. He seemed surprised by the gesture, and quickly entwined their fingers. "I'll be home sooner than you realize, though," she murmured with a small smile. "I promise."

He lifted her clasped hand to his lips and gave it a kiss. "And I will be counting the days—the seconds, really."

She smiled and tugged on his hand. "Come on; let's join the others. Anthony's Christmas Special is about to start…"

* * *

"Oh look! LOOK!" Isobel laughed as they watched Ethel Parks on screen help a convulsing patient at the fictional convalescent home. "See how she's standing? And holding her instruments? I taught her that!"

"Yes, Mother, I think you've told us this at least fourteen times ever since she came on screen," he chuckled and smiled over at Mary, who was sitting next to him.

"Don't scold your mother, she has every right to be proud," Mary teasingly reprimanded.

Isobel grinned. "Thank you, Prime Minister! I always liked you and approved of you, but nothing fills a mother's heart more, than to hear her future daughter-in-law defend her against her own son's sarcasm," she leaned forward and swatted Matthew's arm.

"Ow," he grumbled. "First Lavinia, and now you?" he turned to Mary stuck his lower lip out a little. "I'm starting to wonder if it was a good idea to introduce you to any of my friends or family."

Mary laughed and gave his lip a kiss, which immediately turned his little pout into a grin.

"Oh! Richard, I remember this scene!" Isobel grinned, pointing at the screen again.

Richard was sitting next to her, their hands clasped, and he chuckled as the on screen doctor delivered his lines, yet still, despite all the time spent on the correct way to pronounce certain things, the actor still managed to flub a few lines. "I think I've lost track with how many times we went over that scene," he groaned.

"Well, it still looks flawless!" Edith remarked from where she sat. "And it just proves that the show will need the both of you for a great while!" She glanced at her husband, who was standing in the doorway so as not to disturb the others, while talking on his mobile. He finally finished the call and returned to her side. "Everything alright?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes, that was Evelyn," he explained.

Edith felt her throat go dry for a moment. "Evelyn Napier?" she whispered. "Is he alright?"

Anthony nodded. "He just rang to tell me he was watching the Christmas Special, and hoped that we were having a lovely time at Downton."

She wasn't sure what to make of this. She blushed a little as she recalled her last encounter with Evelyn. Oh Lord, had he mistaken her kiss? Was he hoping that…that the two of them…?

"He asked after you," Anthony added.

Edith paled at this. "Oh?" her voice was a bit of a squeak.

He nodded again. "He said he hoped you were having a wonderful Christmas…and he wanted to apologize for his rudeness over the last few weeks." He looked at her with some concern. "Was he rude to you darling?"

She shook her head. "No, no, I um…I did pop by unexpectedly at his place a few weeks ago, pestering him about wanting to see the wedding video, and…well, he hadn't been expecting company and so I think just…surprised him, that's all."

"Ah, I see," he said with a nod. "Well, he did say he sent me an email containing the wedding video for your sister to see; perhaps after the show I'll fetch my laptop?"

She smiled and nodded her head. She trusted Evelyn to have edited the footage just so; he had told her he would, and she believed him.

"Forgive my dear, I…I know I have been pestering the both of you, but…I really do hope that you can be friends, you and Evelyn?" Anthony looked a little embarrassed and sheepish, but Edith saw the hope in his eyes and she couldn't help but smile and lean up and kiss his cheek.

"I think we can be," she murmured, smiling up at him. "I think that we truly can be, now." And she meant that.

Anthony smiled and put his arm around Edith, and she leaned her head against his chest as they continued to watch the show, laughing every so often as Isobel and Richard provided commentary. Just to the next of them sat her parents, who were both smiling and watching the show as well. Or so Edith thought. In truth, both Robert and Cora were watching their daughters, watching them both laugh and smile and murmur loving words to their partners. They kept their own hands clasped, and would every so often look down at their fingers and run their thumbs across the other's knuckles. Tomorrow would be the celebration of their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. And despite the personal drama that was going on in their marriage…Cora truly did believe that they would come out of this whole thing a great deal stronger…and be able to make it to another thirty-five years.

In the very back of the room, far away from all the other couples, sat Violet and Martha, two grand matriarchs overlooking their shared kingdom, in a sense.

"We've done well for ourselves, don't you think Violet?" Martha murmured.

Violet lifted a brow at this. "What do you mean by 'we'? This is my family's ancestral home; my son—"

"_My_ daughter," Martha cut in. "And while their nationality may be British, they are _my_ granddaughters too, and I have just as much claim to their success as you do," she gave the other matriarch a challenging glare. "So as I have often heard you say…'put that in your pipe and smoke it'."

Both women eyed each other like two predators preparing for battle…and then both burst out laughing.

"Oh we are a pair, aren't we?" Martha laughed.

"Yes, well, let's not start picking bed curtains just yet," Violet groaned before laughing herself.

Martha lifted her sherry glass to Violet. "To our families…"

Violet lifted hers in return. "May they always know love, and have long, fulfilling lives…"

"Here, here!" Martha grinned, before clinking her sherry glass with Violet's.

"Yes…" Violet sighed, pausing to take a drink at last. "Even if they are cursed with being half-American—"

"Violet…" Martha warned.

"Oh my dear, you know I'm only joking? That's my way of showing affection!"

Martha lifted a brow at this. "Then I must be the love of your life," she laughed.

* * *

_To be concluded..._

**IRISH TRANSLATIONS**_—big thanks to __**babageneush**__, __**mrsdickens713**__, and __**vale1886 **__for helping me with these!  
mo ghile álainn_ —my beautiful darling  
_Pósadh liom? Bí mo bhean chéile?—_Marry me? Be my wife?_  
Is breá liom tú_—I love you  
_Bean mo chroi_—woman of my heart


	21. In the New Year

_Here it is...the last chapter. First off, I want to say a special shout out to **queenlovett** who appears as Jimmy's American lady friend (she's *really* friendly, according to her cousin Reed), and I want to dedicate this chapter...TO YOU! *ALL* OF YOU WHO HAVE READ, FOLLOWED, FAVORITED, AND REVIEWED THIS STORY! This has been such a joy to write and so much fun to share. I loved that I got to take one of my favorite movies and turn it into a Downton story (and a multi-character/multi-ship one at that!). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this last chapter. THANKS AGAIN AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

_P.S. for extra feels, go to Youtube and look up "God Only Knows" by the Beachboys (the song that's played at the end of the movie) and play it while reading this last chapter._

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-One_

**In the New Year…**

Cameras were clicking and flashing and various voices were screaming for his attention. Thomas Barrow smiled and lifted his hands in the air to wave at both his screaming fans and the various photographers as he made his way through the arrival's gate at Heathrow, having just returned from promoting his record and talking on a few American late night shows in New York and Los Angeles.

Sarah O'Brien decided to take a rather long holiday herself, much to Thomas' surprise. She realized it didn't matter what she did, he would find a way to get into the various antics that he got into with or without her there and quite frankly, she felt she deserved a holiday after everything that had transpired leading up to Christmas. But thankfully, he had behaved himself (or as best as one could hope for such a man as he) while in the US, and Sarah did find some time to relax. Now he was back, and she was there at the airport to greet him.

Thomas continued smiling for the cameras, and then turned his dazzling smile on her. She couldn't help but grin back, feeling that things were, at least for the moment, better now between the two of them. He threw his arm around her shoulders and waved again, before pointing at her and saying, "world's best manager, right here," to which she poked him in the ribs with her elbow, however she couldn't help but blush at his compliment. She knew she should treasure them now; they wouldn't last, and soon the both of them would be back to their old ways, at least until next Christmas.

"Welcome home, Thomas," she greeted, and then turned her attentions to her client's latest boy toy, who had been left with the task of dragging the luggage. "And um…hello…?"

"This one's Edward," Thomas murmured into her ear.

"Ah!" She smiled at the young man, already worrying if she needed to check his ID to find out just how old he really was. "Well, hello Edward!" She turned and looked at Thomas, muttering out of the corner of her mouth. "Whatever happened to Jacob—"

"Jamie," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever happened to the other one?"

The pictures she had seen uploaded to her mobile from Thomas when he was in Los Angeles featured him with a rather tanned and hard-bodied chap and not this young, pale, ginger-ish lad.

"Cramped my style," Thomas said with a shrug, before putting on the charm and smiling big to a group of screaming fangirls who were begging him to come to over and let them get a picture with him. Sarah sighed and gestured at Edward to follow her.

Nearby, Matthew Crawley watched the spectacle and chuckled to himself. Leave it to someone like Thomas Barrow to steal all the attention from the arrivals gate where the Prime Minister herself would soon be exiting.

"Matthew?"

He turned and grinned, pleasantly surprised to see his mother and Dr. Clarkson. "Mother! What are you still doing here? I thought your flight was scheduled for this morning?"

"Delayed for some reason or another," Richard explained with a shrug of his shoulders. "But they upgraded us to first class! And our flight is ready to start boarding…"

Isobel grinned and turned back to son. "Please give Mary all of our love," she said with a smile as she stood up on tiptoe and kissed her son's cheek.

He smiled and gave her a hug, as well as shook his new stepfather's hand. "Have fun in Barbados," he told them. "But not too much fun; and don't send ridiculous pictures where you're bragging about the beautiful, tropical weather while the rest of us are trapped in cold, snow-covered Britain."

Richard chuckled and Isobel gave her son a light swat on his arm. "A couple are allowed to enjoy themselves on their honeymoon, and if that includes sending you pictures and bragging about what a wonderful time we're having while walking barefoot on a white-sand beach…then so be it."

"Come along, my dear," Richard urged, gently pulling on Isobel's arm and giving his new stepson an apologetic smile. "See you in a fortnight, Matthew!"

"I'll be here to pick you both up—I'll be the pale one, wearing at least three layers."

"Ah yes, but how will we be able to tell you apart from all the other pale ones?" Isobel teased before giving her son one final wave, and turning to join Richard as they made their way to the gate.

Matthew sighed and smiled as he watched them go, before turning his attention quickly back to the arrivals gate and hoping to catch sight of his own lady love.

A few feet away, Robert Crawley was standing off to the side, away from the group of people he had come to the airport with, talking on his mobile to his new secretary. Shortly after Christmas, Robert returned to the office only to discover that Jane had handed in her notice. Apparently she had met someone over the holiday and had more or less "moved on to fry bigger fish". In many ways, Robert was relieved, but of course this left him with the hard task of trying to find a new secretary. Thankfully, Anna had stepped in to help.

"So everything is set for that meeting on Thursday?" he asked.

"Yes sir, oh! And I was able to get you those two tickets you had requested; would you like me to keep them for you here, or ship them out to your house? I'm sure I can get a messenger boy—"

"No, Anna, that will be fine; I'll pick them up tomorrow when I come in," he said with a smile. "And…I know, you're probably getting very tired of me saying this, but…thank you, for stepping in and helping as you did, and…well, for agreeing to do this. I know being my secretary may seem like a demotion—"

Anna giggled and Robert could imagine her shaking her head as she spoke. "No, no, I actually enjoy it, to be honest! I get to interact with more people, and…it's helped me come out of my shell a little bit."

"Well, you're certainly very organized and capable—and I will make it financially worth your while, I promise," he vowed.

"Thank you sir, but I am glad I can help."

He smiled and thought he heard another voice in the background. "Is that Bates?"

"Yes, would you like to talk to him?"

"No, no, that's alright, I um…Anna, I'm very happy for you," Robert told her, meaning every word. He was also very proud of her for having the courage to take that leap of faith, and he was happy for his friend, too. In all the years he had known John Bates, Robert had never seen the man look happier. _Everyone should be just as lucky,_ he thought. And he would spend the rest of his days making up for the foolish mistakes he had committed and that had nearly ruined his marriage.

A soft, bashful giggle could be heard on the other end of the line. "Thank you sir…and thank you for your encouragement."

"Oh Anna, no, no, I don't deserve that sort of praise or gratitude. You did it all and you alone."

There was a pause and Robert thought he detected the slight sound of whispered voices murmuring back and forth, and the words "_love_" and "_you_" being exchanged.

"We take one day at a time, sir," Anna explained, her voice filled with light and merriment. _One day at a time_, Robert thought. _Very good advice indeed._

"Oh! I think…yes, yes, I see her; thank you Anna. You and Bates continue running a tight ship while I'm gone!"

She laughed and gave a hearty, "yes sir!" before hanging up. Robert turned to join the rest of the group he had traveled to the airport with, which included his daughter, her husband, and her husband's best friend.

"SYBIL!" Edith called, waving her hands over her head. "Can she see me?" she asked Anthony. "You're taller, you wave!"

Anthony lifted an arm high in the air, but didn't seem to be as confident about shouting his sister-in-law's name as his wife was. But Evelyn did that for him, giving Anthony a cheeky grin. "SYBIL!"

Sybil gasped at the sound of her name, and saw through the crowd three people waving their arms at her, including her sister who happened to be jumping up and down. "HEY!" she called, laughing and smiling at the sight of them. She turned back over her shoulder and felt her heart go out to the handsome Irishman who was standing just behind her, pushing the luggage cart and looking rather nervous.

"Tom, come and my family!" she said with a grin, joining him at his side.

He gave a worried smile. "I don't think I've ever felt this nervous before in my life," he confessed. "I mean, I'm not only about to meet your parents, but the Prime Minister of Great Britain as well!"

"Well, if it helps, she's not here yet," Sybil reassured, noticing that it didn't seem to be doing much to keep him calm. "Oh Tom, they'll love you! How could they not?"

"Because I'm the man who 'stole their daughter/sister'?"

"You _didn't_ steal anyone," Sybil softly chastised. "Besides, how could you steal someone who not only came to you in the first place, but who _wanted_ to stay by your side for the rest of her days?"

He smiled down at her and felt his fears ease slightly at her words. "Alright, just…don't get your hopes up; I doubt they'll love me half as quickly as my family loved you."

She gave his bicep a swat before wrapping her arm through his and guiding him towards the small welcoming committee. "Well, here he is!" she said with a grin, going up to her sister and giving her a big hug. "My _husband_!" she grinned, saying the word very proudly. "Oh Edith, you're not wrong, it is SO MUCH FUN to say that!"

Edith laughed and smiled at Tom, before offering her his hand. "Edith Strallan," she greeted, before turning to introduce Tom to the other two men. "And this is my husband," she said with a grin at Sybil, "Anthony," who smiled and shook Tom's hand, "And our friend—"

"Evelyn!" Sybil said, smiling at the sight of Mr. Napier. "How wonderful to see you again! I don't think I've seen you since Edith's wedding."

"I offered to drive everyone to the airport," he explained with a kind smile. "And good to meet you, Mr. Branson!" he greeted, shaking the Irishman's hand. Evelyn glanced over at Edith and felt his lips curl with a smile. Things were better now, or they were certainly getting better. While his heart still ached for the beautiful middle daughter of Robert and Cora Crawley, he felt that this would be the year when he would be able to finally move forward.

"OH PAPA!" Sybil said, smiling at her father, who came forward and gave her a big hug. "Oh how wonderful to see you again! I've missed you!"

"We've missed you too," he murmured, looking at his daughter and feeling his heart swell at the sight of her. He then turned to look at the man who stood by her side, and who also happened to be standing rather stiffly and swallowing nervously as Robert met his eyes. "And it's…Tom, yes?"

"Aye, sir," Tom quickly answered. "Tom Branson."

Robert nodded his head. "Good name," he said with a smile. "Well, it's very good to meet you Tom," he murmured, trying to be polite and friendly, when in truth, he was just as nervous as his new son-in-law. Cora was so much better at these things!

"Where's Mama?" Sybil asked, as if reading her father's mind.

"Her plane hasn't arrived yet," Edith explained. "But while we wait for her, tell us all about Dublin! I hope you brought pictures? Oh Sybil, we have so much to discuss about the vow renewal ceremony and reception! AH! I think I may quit the gardening business and go into wedding planning!"

Anthony forced a smile and then whispered to Tom, "Welcome to the Crawley family."

Across the floor, at the other end of the arrival's gate, stood another group of people, sipping coffee and tea and keeping a close watch as more and more people came through gate.

"I don't know why you're so nervous," Jimmy muttered to William. "You already told her how you feel—"

"But that was nearly a month ago!" William groaned. "This will be the first time we'll have seen each other, face to face—" he paused because he knew Jimmy would bring up that both William and Daisy nearly _Skyped_ every day, "IN PERSON," he added, "since Christmas Eve…"

"Listen to your friend there, William," his father encouraged. He was standing next to Mrs. Patmore, who was happily sipping some coffee while having her arm looped through his. It was strange in a way, to see his father "courting" _The Edwardian_ chef. But he was happy for them both, just as he was happy for Mr. Carson, who was also there, sipping coffee with Mrs. Hughes on his arm.

"Your father is right," Mr. Carson added. "Have faith, lad, and—" he stopped and his eyes widened slightly as he saw a familiar face approaching the arrivals gate. "William!" he hissed.

William turned and felt his breath leave his chest as he took in the sight of the very girl he had been thinking and dreaming about ever since he met her, and who he had been counting the days to when she would step foot once again in England. "Daisy!" he gasped, and moved towards her.

Daisy grinned and waved her hand at William, and William couldn't help but stare in amazement at her transformation. She looked…well, he always thought she looked beautiful, but…she looked…STUNNING! Her curly hair had been straightened and hung beautifully off her shoulders, and she was wearing a pretty and flirty-looking black and white checkered coat with a red belt at the waist, a silk scarf around her neck, and just in case anyone ever wondered where she had been all this time, a black beret. Yes, Paris had been good to her, it seemed. William was floored.

"Hi, William," she practically purred, smiling with a sparkle in her eye.

William merely gulped.

"Oh he should have kissed her!" Charles groaned under his breath.

"I agree!" Beryl sighed. "I was hoping to see something out of a movie, where he just swept her up and dipped her!"

Both Elsie and Mr. Mason chuckled. "No, no, he's doing fine," Mr. Mason reassured, smiling down at Beryl.

"I agree," Elsie concurred, turning and looking up at Charles. He caught her eye and saw the sparkle in them, a look that despite his age caused him to feel thirty years younger. He turned his face just slightly, and Elsie grinned as she stood up on her tip toes, and gave his mouth a quick kiss.

Yes, things were going very, very well between both he and Elsie Hughes.

Over back where the rest of the Crawley clan were standing, Robert had once again broken away from the others and was keeping his eyes peeled on the arrivals gate. He wanted to be the first to greet her before the others had their chance.

When she finally appeared, pushing her small luggage cart in front of her, Robert felt his breath catch and his heart stop at the beautiful sight of her. "Cora…" he whispered.

Despite all the noise in the airport, she turned and met his eyes, and Robert couldn't hold back the emotional smile that spread across his face. "Cora…" he murmured again, and she smiled even more as she quickly approached.

"Oh Robert…it's so good to see you!"

He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly and never, ever let her go. But he needed to see her eyes first, to see what she was thinking and feeling in their beautiful blue depths. "Do you mean that?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that perhaps, they could begin again?

She blushed but nodded her head. "Yes…" she whispered. "Yes, and I missed you so much. But…but thank you, Robert, for your willingness to do this, for giving me the time I needed."

He nodded his head, not trusting his voice any further. All that mattered was that she was home, and they were together again. _One day at a time_, he thought to himself. That was what Anna had said, and never had more perfect words been used. They would take one day at a time…and hopefully rebuild the foundations of their marriage…and make it stronger.

"Before our daughters attack," he teased. "May I…have your permission to kiss you?"

Her eyes were shining with tears and she nodded her head. "I was hoping you would," she confessed. He smiled and leaned close, taking her in his arms and letting his mouth cover hers, moaning in his throat at the wonderful sweetness that was his wife's lips. Never, never again would he take an extraordinary woman like her for granted.

"MAMA?"

He lifted his face and sighed, but smiled as they heard both Sybil and Edith squeal in excitement. "Come and meet our new son-in-law," he chuckled. "And I have no doubt that you'll like him."

As both Edith and Sybil embraced their mother, and then proceeded to introduce Tom to her, on the other side of the floor Jimmy kept his eyes peeled at the arrivals gate for another _Edwardian_ employee who had scheduled to return from his extensive stay in America on this day.

"HEY! HEY! HEY! THE GOD OF SEX IS BACK IN BRITAIN!"

Jimmy whipped his head up and threw back his head and laughed at the sight of Alfred, tall and lean with his hair gelled and spiked and wearing sunglasses despite being indoors and the fact that it was January outside.

"Oh my God, you made it…" Jimmy laughed. "You made it and you're alive! I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"

Both friends laughed and embraced, but Alfred quickly stepped away, gripping Jimmy's shoulders. "You haven't seen anything yet," he grinned. "Jimmy, I would like you to meet…Reed."

Jimmy turned his attention then to a beautiful woman who came just behind Alfred through the arrival's gate, her dark hair flowing down her back, her cheekbones high, her skin glowing like soft, ivory porcelain, and even though she seemed to be wearing stiletto heels, she looked as if she were floating off the ground. She smiled at Jimmy, and her radiance glowed even brighter. She was long-legged and…and just…GORGEOUS! Jimmy's mouth fell open.

"Hi Jimmy," Reed murmured as she shook his hand, her American accent thick and warm, like hot melted caramel. "It's really nice to meet you."

"H-h-h-h-hello…R-R-Reed," Jimmy stammered, his face glowing redder and redder at the sight of the beautiful American. Holy shit…Alfred was right. ALFRED WAS RIGHT!

"Oh! And I want you to meet Elizabeth!" Reed said with a smile. "My cousin," she explained. "She's from Georgia. And she's really friendly. I invited her to join me, because she's never seen London! I hope you don't mind if she stays?"

Jimmy's eyes moved beyond the gorgeous woman in front of him, and gasped as another beautiful woman, with catlike grace and poise, began strutting towards him, not stopping until her arms were around him, hugging him tight and pulling him against her chest. "Hello, you must be Jimmy!" Elizabeth grinned, hugging even tighter.

Jimmy looked at Alfred over Elizabeth's shoulder and simply mouthed, OH. MY. GOD!

Alfred just smiled and nodded his head. Ah yes, he had been to the Promised Land, indeed.

Elizabeth giggled and took Jimmy's face in her hands. "Alfred said you were gorgeous," she purred, running her fingers through his hair, and without warning, leaning in and kissing him. Jimmy was stunned silent and simply stood there, gaping at the woman who had just kissed him and showed no shyness or regret. "I'm really glad I came now," she murmured, leaning close and kissing him again.

Jimmy met Alfred's eyes again, wider and even more amazed than before. God bless America, indeed!

However, Alfred, Jimmy, Reed, and Elizabeth quickly moved out of the way as several bodyguards cleared the arrival gates, and all the cameras who had been there to snap pictures of Thomas quickly returned to get a glimpse of the Prime Minister as she entered the room.

"PRIME MINISTER! PRIME MINISTER!" shouted several reporters, while Mary simply smiled and waved her hands at the crowd that was gathered. But in truth, her eyes were scanning the crowd, and stopped…when they fell on a certain man who was pushing his way through.

The bodyguards, who were keeping the reporters from crowding her let her fiancée through and Mary grinned as Matthew walked right up to her, and without a moment's hesitation, took her in his arms and not only kissed her, but dramatically dipped her low like in an old Hollywood movie.

"Matthew!" Mary gasped, blushing deeply but grinning all the same. "This is hardly proper!"

"Oh hush," he muttered against her lips, kissing her again despite the thousand flash bulbs that flickered around them.

"Matthew, let my sister breathe!" Sybil shouted from where she was standing, giggling and grinning at the sight of her sister and her cousin.

Mary and Matthew rose back to their full height and laughed, blushing and smiling sheepishly at the cameras and then moved over to where the rest of the Crawley family stood, meeting new members, reuniting with old ones.

Sybil smiled as she hugged Tom and introduced him to her sister and her cousin, and then continued to smile as she back at the arrival's gate, where more and more people continued to exit and greet their loved ones from all over the world.

"Love is actually all around," she murmured with a smile.

"What did you say, love?" Tom asked.

She smiled up at him and simply answered his question with a kiss. God only knows where they all would be, without each other, and without love.

**~THE END~**


End file.
